The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five
by SharKohen
Summary: Summary: It's a game to die for: a charming blonde with 70ft worth of hair; a 'career' who couldn't - wouldn't kill; a determined redhead eager to make her mark; A shepherd boy the Capitol loves and a cryokinetic mutant who'd do anything to protect her sister. Hunger Games AU, with deviations. The Big Four Frozen / ROTBTFD. Other Disney Dreamworks people too.
1. Prologue: The Day Before

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Previously _'The Game of Five'_

**Summary: It's a game to die for: a charming blonde with her 70 ft worth of hair; a career who couldn't - wouldn't kill; a determined red-haired eager to make her mark; A shepherd boy who the Capitol falls in love with and a cool-headed mutant who'd do anything to protect her sister.****  
><strong>**Hunger Games AU, with deviations. The Big Four + Frozen / ROTBTFD. Some Wreck-it-Ralph, Big Hero 6, and others.****  
><strong>

Prologue: The Day Before

* * *

><p><strong>District 12<strong>

There was a knock on her door. And another. And another.

"Elsa? I know you're in there."

Elsa's eyelids fluttered open as she drowsily noted that the break between each set of knocks was getting shorter and shorter. She squeezed her eyes shut again, curling up more tightly in her bed, as if that could shut the rapping out of her head.

Then she heard the door creak open and she knew she lost.

"Elsa!" She could feel a grab on her arm, yanking it carelessly. "Wake up! Wake up!"

Elsa considered faking some snores, but decided against it. She didn't snore much in her sleep, unlike her sister. In what she hoped was a firm voice, "Anna, go back to sleep."

"I can't!" The other girl announced fervidly, leaping onto Elsa's bed. With a touch of drama, she declared with passion, "The _sky_'s awake! So _I'm_ awake! So we," – jump – "must" – jump. Elsa waited for the last word to come out, but when there was just silence. She dared to wonder, though with much disbelief, whether her sister had suddenly decided to leave her alone, or maybe given in to her own exhaustion and had fallen asleep.

She wished too early.

The blow came in the form of a yell straight in the ear. "PLLLLAAAYYYY!"

"Ahh!" Elsa leapt up from her bed, covering the ear that Anna had just nearly deafened. Anna threw her head back, giggling to like there was no tomorrow, while her elder sister shook her head vigorously, trying to get the ringing sound out of her head.

"A tad childish, don't you think Anna?" She dryly remarked at the laughing brunette. "And you're supposed to be sixteen next week."

"C'mon! Let's go do something fun! I've got the extra candle that Hans gave me last week, and some chocolate from the shop! We can stay up and eat! We can talk! Oooh, maybe ghost stories! Or village gossip! _Or_…"- a wicked glint appeared in her eye, - "boys."

Elsa rolled her eyes. Ever since Anna and that pretty boy, _Hans_, became an item – and _only_ after a huge fight with Elsa - Anna had been going in the boy-crazy loop.

To be fair, she had been doing that for quite sometime before that. Elsa tacked it down to teenage hormones. She supposed her already hyperactive sister would get over it, eventually.

With a level tone, Elsa said, "Candle should been saved for when we need to work nights. Chocolates' a rare treat, so we should try to save them for your sixteenth. Just in case."

"Ever the future-oriented," Anna lamented, pulling a disgusted face, but Elsa knew that Anna understood. Last year, both of them groped and pinched just to save up a little to buy just a bar of chocolate to celebrate Anna's fifteenth. Elsa even chucked her name in the bowl, secretly, for a little tessarae to save some cash. In the end, all the birthday money went into rent.

Things were so much easier when their parents were around.

"Get some rest, Anna." Elsa told her sister, dropping herself back on the bed. "Tomorrow's a big day." She wasn't sleepy, but she suddenly didn't feel like talking to her sister anymore.

"Yeah, I guess-o." Elsa noted that Anna's tone mellowed. A pang of guilt shot through the elder girl's chest.

_Tomorrow_. That's why Anna came in. They both knew what day tomorrow was, and she was just trying to forget. The first year Anna's name was put in the bowl, she stayed up all night alternating between mimicking the ticking of the clock and doing her math homework. And she _never_ did math homework.

Just as Elsa thought of saying something comforting, she heard the door close, and silence reigned. Of course, Elsa knew who really shut the door on who.

The pale blue light of the moon filtered through the broken blinds on her covers. Adjusting herself to face the window, she raised her head, staring at the unbroken white face of moon painted against the black sky. It was whole, perfect and pure.

So unlike the world it gazed on.

She heard a crackle sound and startled. She glanced down at her hands, and noticed that a small white ball had formed in her palm. Quickly shaking off the white stuff off herself, she grabbed the green pair of gloves that lay on her side table, chanting softly to herself, "_Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel."_

She laid her head back on her pillow, shutting her eyes, tucking her hands under her pillow, hoping that she'd plunge into dreamland before the entire room got iced again.

* * *

><p><strong>District 10<strong>

"Jack, I'm scared." She was shivering slightly, in part cold, but part fear, he suspected.

He draped his poncho over her shoulder, sitting himself in front of her. " And why's that, kiddo? You're not even old enough to get your name reaped."

"Yes, but you are," she told him.

That one thing he loved about kids. They didn't go in the big loops, with long boring, unrelated stories like grown up did. They were innocent, unassuming and honest.

A mischievous grin crept on his face. "_Awwwww _- and you'll miss your big bro if that happens, eh?"

Her lips curled into a pout, as she punched him with her scrawny fists over and over. They didn't hurt, but eventually Jack found tumbling himself of the bed, down to the wood of the floor, futilely trying to protect himself for the blows.

"Okay, okay, you've made your point!" He cried in surrender. With a satisfied smirk, Emma drew back and allowed him to get to his feet.

"Jack, stop messing with your sister and go to sleep," his mother called from the kitchen. He noted to warm glow of the fire from the living was fading as mother started to put it out.

"Alright, to sleep you go," he told the little girl, scooping her small form in his arms, setting her off into giggles. He tossed her gently against the pillows – made from the very feathers that he had managed to scrap in work, - before drawing up the snug woolen blankets over her legs. He planted a kiss on her forehead, then rose to leave, when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Tell me a story, Jack!"

"It's getting pretty late, y'know," he said, shrugging with false reluctance.

She pulled out the secret weapon – her large brown eyes, full of eagerness, anxiety and joy at all the same time, the way only children's eyes could. "_Please_, Jack."

If his mother scolded him later, he'd just tell her she pulled 'the eyes' thing. It's not his fault that she did it, was it?

Besides, he'd been lucky the last six years, but that didn't mean that tonight wouldn't be the last night he could do this.

Kneeling next to her bed, his eyes sparkling, he began with a low voice, "Once, long ago, in some faraway place called Europe, there was a boy. He walked like a boy, and he talked like a boy, but in reality, he was really special."

"You see, he was the winter spirit. Every winter night he would ride the wind, over rooftops and chimneys. He glide past the windows and with his ice hands, he draw beautiful pictures all over the glass panes. When kids wanted to play, he call snow to fall from the sky, even on the hottest days. He was … _Jack Frost_."

**District 8**

Most of the other girls in the orphanage had already gone to sleep, but Rapunzel was determined that she wouldn't until it was done. Punching the needle in a rhythmic fashion – in, out, in, out – she tried not to let the rolling of the melting wax worry her. Instead, she talked turned to her small green companion.

"Tomorrow's the day!" She told him half animatedly, as she made a quick knot with the thread, before shifting the cloth over, folding it over, and plunging the needle in again. "Well, most of the girls are scared – what am I talking about, I'm scared! I mean, any of us could be the – well, _you know_ – but it's the only day that they let us go out, and the chances of me being picked is so _small_, so I'm actually totally okay with it!" She ended with a smile that was a little too wide.

The green chameleon just narrowed his green slits at her with knowing disbelief. After a brief staring contest, Rapunzel sighed in defeat as her shoulder dropped. The needle fell out of her hand, as she whispered him, "Sometimes I'm so afraid of that they would call my name, I'd end up chewing my hair. I know," – she caught him rolling eyes at her – "it's a bad habit, but I'm trying to break from it you know. But I'm so afraid. Just look at TV! All the ruffians, thugs, poison ivy, quicksand!"

She shivered in horror, "One year even had cannibals – though they sort of made it illegal now – and snakes! Snakes! And large bugs! Oooh, and those kids with pointy teeth! How do they even get those teeth?" She was yanking on her hair so hard, that it was a wonder that she hadn't ripped them off her scalp.

The green creature stared at her placidly for a moment, then rose slightly on his hind legs. With his front legs he made a small up-and-down, up-and-down motion that she immediately understood. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to convince herself, "I am calm, I am calm." Then she exhaled slowly.

Seeing that she was more relaxed, the green chameleon dropped back to all fours and scurried over to the edge of the table, waiting for her speak.

"I shouldn't get so worked up, should I?"

He answered with a firm shake of the head.

"There are lots of girls in the village, and my name's only been there five times. Well, okay, twelve times since they forced us to get tessarae for the orphanage – not that I minded awfully!" She quickly defended herself. "And maybe, four more times when the quadruplets came in… but it doesn't matter. It's still not a lot compared to lots of others. Right?"

He gave several eager and repetitive nods, though more to keep her smiling than because he really believed it.

"Great! Then I've got nothing to worry about. They said that they'll be let us for stay for the celebration tomorrow after the reaping, so I can finally join in the danc– oh!" She gazed down at the crumpled heap she had released on the floor. "I meant to finish this before tomorrow. A new dress for dancing, y'know?"

He nodded firmly to show he understood, but he nodded to the clock, then raised a brow – or his reptilian equivalent – at her.

She got the message. "I'd guess better hurry then." Bending over the dress, she pulled the needle in and out, seam after seam, under the glow of the slowly dripping candle, and under the watch of her faithful green friend.

**District 2**

Paranoia wasn't the most becoming trait of Peacekeepers. They called it _meticulousness_.

And so that's how he described himself as he tried to calculate the exact probability of whether he'd get picked.

Glancing at the stat report he had cautiously stolen from his father's desk an hour ago, he started to do some math.

His name had only been entered exactly four times, since he'd never needed tessarae. Okay, hardly anyone in District 2 had ever took tessarae, since most people could live well without it, and those who did were just did so to increase their chances of getting picked. He knew his cousin Snotlout had thrown in his name 10 times with much anticipation, though to no avail.

Hiccup shuddered. Up to now, he didn't understand everyone else's enthusiasm about getting into the games. Were they _insane_?

Of course, this was District 2. Sure, masonry was supposed to be the main gig, but really? Everyone wanted to be a Peacekeeper. It paid well, gave every bloodthirsty District 2-er his fair share of violence, plus the honour to serve the Capitol. Of course, it meant twenty years without marriage or kids, but the average lifespan of the people here was pretty long, so it didn't matter much.

And of being a victor? That was the biggest thing that anyone in District 2 could get. His mum was a victor. And so was his dad, and that status still pretty much overrode his position as a mayor, in the eyes of people.

They had expected that of him when he was born – the son of two victors, who could blame him? But when he grew to his nice, scrawny self, people eventually admitted that the genes were lost on him. His mother had died in when he was child - a train crash, he had been told - and he liked to think that was the real reason that he sucked so badly at being who he was supposed to be. But really, it was like the odds were all stacked against him just so he could be the miserable failure Fate decided he should be. Please, at ten, he couldn't pick up a Vektor CP1 _handgun_ without staggering. He remembered his younger days in Career Training (It was illegal. Why did it even have an official name?), watching his dad gaze back at him in complete disappointment, as a trainee two-years younger than him had him grounded in less two seconds.

He pulled out of Career Training altogether around thirteen– instructor complained he had slowed down the class – and he had been dropped back into masonry, where he hadn't fare better, thanks his obvious lack of muscle. Eventually, he settled in handling and fixing the machines, which he was surprisingly good at.

It didn't stop him from trying over and over to be the Career that his dad wanted him to be; like (failed) attempts at body-building, self-learning how to handle weaponry (he shot himself in the foot twice – fortunately nothing permanent), and even getting into street fights on purpose (it _really_ didn't end well.) Still, it often ended with himself in a tangle, his peers mocking him, others sighing at him, and his father's disappointment.

Hiccup just stared at the millions of numbers before him. He glanced at the workings he scribbled on his notepad.

He just needed to add in the numbers of 12-year-olds joining the reaping this year, punch the data in the calculator, then he'd know for sure his chances of getting in.

The problem was he didn't know if he wanted to be _in or not_.

Sighing, Hiccup shut the book. Whether paranoia nagged him or not, there wasn't much point in this.

Picking it up, he carefully made his way to his father's study. Ensuring that no one was passing by, he retrieved the spare office key he had stolen two weeks earlier – for purely academic purposes, he assured himself. Glancing around once more, he slid himself in, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hearing voices behind him, he thought that for a moment he had been caught in the act. However, it turned out that it was just holo-projector, still playing some news from the other districts. He hurriedly found the right drawer, slid the statistic report back in it old place. When he shut the drawer again, he found himself watching the videos on the holograms.

There were people on the streets, their fists raised as they charged forward, chanting something together. Opposite them were Peacekeepers, lined tightly together, holding up their shields, trying to force them back. When the people didn't budge, weapons appeared in the hands of Peacekeepers. Shots rang out in the air, and people were screaming and yelling, scrambling off in different directions. Some people stumbled to the ground and never got up again. Later on, more Peacekeepers kept marching in, and more shots were fired, and the same thing happened over and over.

It wasn't the first time Hiccup had seen such clips during his escapades to his father's office, but he still cringed every time he saw them. He understood that rebellion brought violence, which why Peacekeepers had to contain them – literally, to keep peace. But he watched it play out in real life - well, he couldn't barely keep the sickened feeling down his throat.

He heard a clinking sound from the door of the adjacent room, so he left the office hastily, locking the door before scampering off to his room.

Throwing himself on the covers, he eventually drifted off to sleep, dreaming of some place above the clouds.

* * *

><p><strong>District 5<strong>

Just this morning, there had been a riot.

Again.

It happened up in the northern village. People were angry that they weren't getting the pay they had been promised, or something like that. With the coming winter, food was getting scarce. Who could really blame them?

She suspected that it was started by old Macintosh, and maybe that egotistical son of his, though her parents 'kept mum' about that. Macintosh had been her dad's old pal after all.

Peacekeepers had been pouring in like floodwaters. It had been too difficult to sneak out to the woods tonight, so she consoled herself by firing at the wooden target she kept hung on her room wall. It was much too near, of course, and eventually 3 close-range shots at high-speed smashed it with a forceful _thwack!, _splintering it in pieces.

She stood absolutely still for a moment, listening. Catching the faint thuds of footsteps, she hurriedly stashed her bow and arrows all under her bed. Hopping into bed, she wrapped her wiry self under sheets, throwing her arms carelessly about, then started snoring in a suspiciously loud manner.

The door creaked open for a moment, and a thread of light whipped into the room. Merida pricked her ears, trying to guess which parent it was. She decided to give a few more snores, just in case.

"See, Elinor? The lassie's all tuckered out, and – well, out."

She grinned. If it was just her 'ol'e da' ', it was pretty easier. She made a few more snores for his benefit.

"Don't be silly, Fergus. She didn't get to do hunting today - thank goodness, she had the sense not too – but I doubt she'd exhausted herself over her history lessons, " she heard her mother's dubious voice echoing further down the hall.

Merida held her breath at that point. If her mother came into the room, she would, with her super-mum tracking abilities, see the splintered target board, find the bow, then sit her up to give her lecture getting her priorities straight.

She'd been getting more these lectures ever since she hit sixteen. Her mother had been giving her lady lessons, emphasizing that soon she'd be old enough to join her father on his summons to the Capitol, and she'd have to know how walk, talk and act like on the Elites. 'Give our district a good name," her mother had told her over and over.

Maybe somewhere in her common sense she understood that, but _still_! What was with those impossibly high-heeled shoes that pinched her toes! And how was she supposed to breath in the ridiculously tight corset? And why have so many utensils on a table? Why not just eat everything with a knife? It's a lot more convenient.

Fortunately, her father won out in the end. "Well, just leave her be. She's got enough worries tomorrow."

When she heard her mother sigh, her anger towards cooled considerably. "If she get's – well, you know – All those awful things that happen in the Arena – I…I don't think I could take it take it Fergus. "

"You know the odds, Elinor, there's no way she'd be picked with all those tessarae kids," her father comforted her. " And if she does? Why she's strong, just like her da'. More than that – she's wiley and quick, like you. She'd come out tops."

"But District 5 hadn't had a victor since _you_! And even then, look what the games did to you!"

Merida knew what her mother meant. When her father was in the games, he had to fight some weird muttations – a great terrible bear, he had told her brother and her. It chomped his leg clean off.

"Hush, 'linor," her dad said quickly. Even with only her back facing them, Merida could well imagine her dad holding her mum, stroking her long brown hair gently. "It'll all turn for the better. You'll see."

The stream of light vanished as the door shut behind her. Listening to her parents conversation, Merida was fighting a conflict of her own. Ever since the riots started in District 5, and her mother's talk of responsibility and leadership, she'd been giving a lot more thought about the Games. True, District 5 hadn't had a winner since her father, but she was going to change that.

She would bring the Capitol's favour back to District 5, just like her mother wanted, and quell the starvation that brought anger here, even if only a while. She had to admit, this was going to break her parent's heart.

It was very simple. She wasn't going to get reaped.

She was going to volunteer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, in my other fanfiction, I said that I wouldn't be writing anymore till November, but this idea kept bugging me throughout school, so I decided to 'let it go'. Yes, you are not amused. Okay. **

**I know there are a lot of Hunger Game/ Rise of The Brave Tangled (Frozen) Dragon arts and photos out there, but so far I haven't found a fanfiction that satisfied me. So…this was born. **

**As stated in the summary, I'll be bringing in some other Disney and Dreamwork film characters either as supporting case or just cameos. **

**For the storyline, it's set in the Hunger Games World, but there are going to be a lot of differences (e.g. Human Mutants – Elsa), and eventually it would get weirder. The story would also be a hybrid of The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, because I refuse to kill of all my favourite characters (note the word '****all****'. That should tell you something… )**

**However, I hope to keep the spirit of the Hunger Games, while keeping the characters, as well themselves. **

**The reaping would be happening in the next chapter, so stay tuned till Nov (because I should be focusing on school work…) **

**Please review! Ask Questions! Tell me what you'll think! Constructive Criticism appreciated too.**


	2. Chapter 1: Reaping Day

The Guardians Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 1: Reaping Day

* * *

><p><strong>District 5<strong>

Most of the Peacekeepers had cleared off by morning, or perhaps had relocated themselves to the town square, where they could _at least_ make themselves useful. Merida didn't care. She had used that to her advantage, - taking flight to the woods just before dawn.

Nobody worked on reaping day, so power plants and factories were all empty. That didn't matter much to Merida though. Instead, she headed to the part of the fence where she found some young, tall trees. Climbing skillfully right to the top of one particular birch, she used it to jump out and over the electrical fence that lined the orchards, over to the fresh, lush forest on the outside.

And there she was right now – sitting on the branch of a stately old oak that she had guessed was at least a hundred years old. She leaned against its trunk, staring into space. Usually she'd be hunting – that's why she always brought her trusty bow and quiver along - but today she didn't feel like it. Instead, she spent the time taking in the beautiful world that surrounded her – watching squirrels that were scrambling up the branches, storing up for the winter; listening to the gushing of the river as it gurgled down the creek; admiring how the sun filtered through the red and gold leaves. If she wasn't careful, this would be the last time she would ever see this place –

No, she would be successful. She just had to tell herself that over and over.

Observing how that the Sun had shifted further west, she reluctantly admitted it was time. Hopping down from the branches carefully, she made her way back to the where the electric fence was. Undoubtedly, her mother would be mad at her for being late, and also ruining the new green dress she had just bought. "What would the people think with the Mayor's daughter running around like that?" she would exclaim in horror. But Merida had hardly given the lovely gown a thought when she tossed herself from branch to branch, splashing down onto the damp mud.

Later, she would let her mother fuss over her again, maybe even let cram her mane of curls into one of those silly bob buns that Capitol folk seemed to adore. She'd be squashed in another corset, of course, with some highly uncomfortable dress. And heels. But she would grit her teeth and bear it.

Consider it a sort of farewell gift.

* * *

><p><strong>District 12<strong>

"What do you think?"

Elsa scanned at herself at the mirror, and was absolutely speechless.

After her sister and herself had garbed themselves in their best clothes – an embroidered dark green dress for herself, and a light green one for Anna – her sister had asked if she could style her hair. Still fraught with guilt from last night, Elsa consented.

Usually, she would do hers in a coronet – a style she had learnt from their mother before her passing. It gave her very rigid, reserve appearance, but it was serviceable and made her look respectable. What Anna did with her hair was nothing like that.

It was a simple French side-braid, but how Anna had scoop back the locks of hair and twisted them into this, she could never now. She seemed bold, beautiful, _strong_.

Which was nothing like how she felt right then.

"Thank you, Anna. It's beautiful," she told her sister with complete sincerity. Cocking her head to a side, she noted the dual braids that Anna had done for herself. It made her look younger, but it brought out the cheerfulness that the red-headed always kept.

Elsa was sometimes envied how Anna had always stayed so optimistic and hopeful. Always finding something new and better to look forward to, or if not, find something old that they could enjoy right now. Their parent's death had broken their lives; their home; even their relationship. But never did anything shake Anna's courage to keep living.

Anna was strong.

"It's almost ten o'clock. I guess we should go." When her sister had said that, Elsa noted for the briefest moment that fear flickered across in the blue eyes.

"Yes, we should," Elsa replied, unwillingly rising to her feet. She wasn't really looking forward to facing the cost of her tessarae, but then, who was? Before she left the dressing table, which really was just the dining table, she picked up the gloves and slid them over her hands.

Anna was already at the door, with her green coat over her shoulders. She held out Elsa's magenta one to her. "It's getting a little chilly."

Thanking her sister, she slipped the coat on, even though cold wind brought her more comfort than actual pain. Still, if District 12 was known for anything at all, it was their coal, and then their freezing winters.

As she shut the door behind them both, she could almost feel Anna's building dread as the girl watched their neighbours walking by, all headed to the same place. It was mandatory for all to attend the reaping, after all.

There was Greta and Kai, a middle-aged couple with no children of their own - fortunately for them. They were the kindliest of neighbours, having helped Anna and her during the first of their orphan years, even acquiring them a house of their own in the Seam. Elsa was eternally gratefully that both of them had avoided staying in one of those disreputable homes.

One of them was Kristoff, a boy in Anna's class. He was an eccentric lad, preferring to spend his time higher up in the mountains where snow fell thick. According to Anna, he once announced that he would be an ice-cutter when he grew up, just to get away from people. Everyone scoffed him, of course, since the biggest work in District 12 was still coal.

For now, he appeared rather out of place without his pet reindeer accompanying him, but, of course, he knew better than to let the Peacekeepers know he had a pet reindeer at all.

Being herself, Anna gave a little enthusiastic wave and smile, though, Elsa noted, without her usual bubbly delight in it. Nonetheless, the blond boy blushed and tipped bobbled hat at them before quickly marching on and up. Anna hardly noticed his reaction, but Elsa did, and she was pretty sure she knew why. Anna was sometimes pretty oblivious to the obvious.

Drawing to her sister's side, she asked, "Ready?"

Anna sighed. "As I'll ever be… which is never, by the way."

The rest of the journey up the hill to the town square was in stony silence. Elsa supposed to she could say something comforting, or maybe a joke if possible, or just blab about the cold, but words just stuck to her throat.

The giant Hall of Justice was coming into sight now, and Elsa could see Anna shaking more fervently now. Were she to ask, Anna would smile and blame it on the wind, but it would be certainly a lie. If there was anything that could shake Anna, it was the reaping.

And there was nothing that Elsa could do to protect her from that.

* * *

><p><strong>District 8<strong>

"Rapunzel. Just Rapunzel."

The Capitol personnel obligingly filled her name in, while another took her bloodsample. For a moment, she couldn't stop staring at the pad of ink that sat on the table next to record books. Ink was scarce in the orphanage, being a rather expensive import. She had tried making-do with using assorted dyes as writing material, but she eventually quit when her fingers got stained more than the pages.

She noted that people were starting to give her weird looks, so she decided to move on. Scampering off, she joined the other sixteen-year-olds, standing in line with them. The other girls stared at her, which gave her a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Was it because of the new dress she was wearing? Or was it because she wasn't wearing any shoes?

Oh, of course. The _hair_. She subconsciously gave her braid a little tug. The quadruplet's had helped with it this morning, so it was shortened just enough for her to walk freely. Still, her hair was still considerably long, and she didn't get to go out often (or really she didn't go _at all_, save reaping day – orphanage regulations), so she supposed these girls weren't as used to seeing it as the other orphans.

Eventually, their interest in her waned, and they returned to whatever they were doing before. Heaving a sigh of relief, Rapunzel whispered, "You can come out now."

The green chameleon slid out of her pocket, climbing up her arm before resting himself on her shoulder, where he immediately changed his skin colour to blend into the pink and purple stripes on her sleeve.

She murmured at him again, "Thanks for being here, Pascal."

The little reptile made an assuring noise to inform her that there wasn't any other place he'd rather be.

The clock struck two, and finally the mayor, a tall military-looking man, raises to the podium to address the crowd, telling them the same old story that was told every year.

There was time great turmoil, followed by the birth of Panem. Then came the establishment of the Districts and the Capitol; followed by the rebellion; and then the Treaty of Treason, which led to the Hunger Games. Rapunzel had heard this many times by now, even the times before she was a tribute.

Every district was to contribute a male and female tribute of twelve to eighteen years of age to the Games. The tributes would fight to the death, and the sole survivor was crowned victor. It happened ever year.

The mayor then listed their victors; which weren't few, but they were, Rapunzel had to admit, rather old by now. The few victors that still lived were sitting on the stage, and were admittedly a scary-looking lot, with big bulging muscles and strange attire.

Finally, the mayor introduces the strange capitol lady, whom Rapunzel decides was the queerest person she had ever laid eyes on. Certainly, District 8 was all about textiles and sewing, but such a dress as the one the lady wore could never be made here. How did all those feathers stand upright? And who ever put orange, blue _and_ purple together on the same dress?

The lady – at least Rapunzel assumed it wasn't some alien from space - started chattering off some silly quotes. Rapunzel saw Pascal rolling his eyes, and she smiled despite herself.

"Ladies' First!" The strange capitol lady made a rather creepy-looking smile, showing off her pearly white teeth. She headed over to the reaping bowl, fingered through the slips, before drawing one out.

Rapunzel felt her muscle tense up, so she forced herself to inhale and exhale deeply, just as Pascal had often advised her. She shut her eyes just as the strange lady slid her hand into the glass bowl. She tried thinking about the celebration to come. There was always a celebration after reapings, except for the families which had lost their children to the games.

Shutting her eyes, she imagined the delicious food that would be passed around; the soaring music sung by fiddles and pipes; the dancing that would come in the end…

It would be over soon. It would all be over.

"Ra-punzel!"

It was over.

* * *

><p><strong>District 10<strong>

"Toothiana Punjam!"

Jack's head jerked up. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He tried to remember when he last heard it – was it fourth grade? Or was it fifth grade? But one thing for sure, he definitely remembered the petite girl that stepped onto the stage. She tended to be rather lively and excited about all kinds of things, - especially teeth. She wanted to be the town dentist, apparently, and he remembered how she would ask him to floss his teeth every time he grinned at her. Not exactly the best way to get a date.

He grimaced. Still, she was a sweet girl. She didn't deserve this.

In a matter of fact, none of them deserved this.

The announcement of the male tribute would be soon, but Jack instead took the moment to let his eyes stray to the perimeter. Above the millions of heads, he finally found his mother, and his eyes met hers. He gave her a small, warm smile, and she bravely returned it, though he could tell by she was worried.

Her disappeared briefly as she bent over to get something. When she was back up, he noticed Emma in his arms. She gave him a small wave and grin, which made his smile even wider.

Emma was eight now. Four years from now, her name would go into the reaping bowl for seven antagonizing years. He survived himself the five, with only two more himself, but could he live through the fear that her name be called during those years to come? He'd rather doubt it.

The Capitol escort had said something that caused the cheerful expressions on his mother and sister's faces disappeared, replaced by looks of pure horror. Bewildered, he raised at brow at them, but all he got in return were forlorn looks.

"Jack!" Someone by his side was hissing at him. He glanced back sharply. All the other seventeen-year old were staring at him. At the far corner, he noted that some Peacekeepers were marching over.

Then it dawned on him.

He had been reaped.

* * *

><p><strong>District 5<strong>

Finally, her father's speech was over.

She knew he hated reading that thing – "Never seen anything so miserable in his life," he often complained to them. She couldn't agree more.

As her father slumped himself back onto his chair, the Capitol escort finally got off his stupid bum and started talking. Her father scanned the crowd until he found her. He brought his hand briefly his forehead, then made a sighing expression. Merida shot back a grin at him, chortling silently.

The Capitol escort was now making his way to the bowl where the boys' names were. The world seemed to still briefly as he drew up the slip. When he said the name into the microphone, the crowd stirred slightly. For a moment, the Peacekeepers around them tensed up, some even tentatively raising their firearms. The Peacekeepers still remembered the events yesterday, even if many of the District didn't. Fortunately, the noise dropped quickly enough.

It was Wee Dingwall – yes, even Merida felt that Dingwall Jr. would have been a better name, but his da' was a stubborn man and lacked much common sense. Of course, the only thing wrong with his name now was that it got drawn.

As Wee Dingwall made his way up the steps of the stage, his eyes still staring blankly into space, Merida felt the doubts creeping on her again. Dingwall the elder was another one of her father's friends. If she were do as she had planned, she may well end up having to – well, end _him_.

She scrunched up her face. Wow, that _did_ sound morbid. Not that there could be anything un-morbid that was related to the Games.

The Capitol escort now headed over to the other bowl, drawing up the name. He returned to the microphone and spoke the name. Part of her was glad it wasn't hers, but her little joy wasn't shared by the chosen girl – Maudie, if she remembered right – who was already bawling her head off. Merida winced. Wailing in front of the entire Capitol was not considered go form, and most sponsors would avoid wailer in the end.

Merida searched herself. Her brother's mischievous grins; her father's hearty laughs; her mother's reluctant smiles… she would - could lose it all.

But then, for the District… She wondered what her mother would have done. Why was making a mark so difficult?

The Peacekeepers were forcefully dragging Maudie out and down the aisle. It was now or never.

She shot her hand straight up, her face hard with determination.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

* * *

><p><strong>District 2<strong>

"Volunteers? Hahaha!"

Hiccup wished that the oddly dressed Capitol escort wasn't standing so near the mike when he said that. Now the whole District – no – the whole of _Panem_ knew of what he had asked.

In a low tone, he replied, "Yes, volunteers. Could you like – um – ask if anyone wants to – like, um, volunteer? 'Cause," – he scratched his head awkwardly, - "it's kind of one of the rules. Just in case, y 'know. "

"Alright then," the Capitol escort said in an amused tone, the way an adult would speak to a naïve yet troublesome child.

Hiccup winced. His father was sitting hardly seven feet away, and must have heard the entire exchange. If he could - which Hiccup supposed he actually could - he would object to Hiccup's request, and the boy would find himself dragged to the train, in chains if necessary.

"Just in case, folks," the Capitol man's cheery voice echoed throughout the hall. "Would anyone like to volunteer?"

Almost every hand in the male section was raised. Enthusiastically. With _smiles_.

Resigned, Hiccup muttered, "I suppose that does pose a problem…"

"I'm glad to see so many are in really in the spirit of the Games!" The oddly-dressed man exclaimed with pleasure. His accent was really getting on Hiccup's nerves. And that _voice_ – not that he was one to talk.

"However, with some many of you, how could we possibly choose?" The Capitol escort continued. Some in the crowd were actually _cheering_. Hiccup jaw slackened. What was it with these people?

"So I'm afraid you guys are just going to have to wait till next year, but for now, the honour of the male tribute of District 2 goes to Hiccup Haddock!"

The Gods, if there were any, definitely hated him.

The Capitol escort eventually moved on to reaping for the female tribute, which gave Hiccup some time to glance behind him. In the three other chairs that sat behind him, one was occupied by Gobber, his father's friend and fellow victor, who just raised an eyebrow at him. On his left, his father was just – stoic.

Hiccup turned back to the crowd, and dejectedly started to reflect on his life. He was the smallest kid whoever lived in District 2; he was going to the Games as a tribute, where everyone will expect him to be a career; his image had been ruined by the whole scene earlier, so no one would even think of sponsoring him; oh, and he was going die at the ripe old age of _fifteen_.

Things couldn't possibly get worse, could they?

"Astrid Hofferson!"

… Apparently they could.

* * *

><p><strong>District 12<strong>

When she first heard the name, she couldn't breathe.

And when she finally could, she couldn't stop gasping.

The last time she had felt this was when she watched their beautiful house suddenly burst in flame, eating up both stone and wood. As her sister clung to her screaming that night, she could only remember the horror and fear that clogged up her throat, choking her, while she stared hopelessly at her hands. Only one thought kept ringing in her mind.

This couldn't be happening.

Faraway, several rows in front of her, Anna's head briefly turned to face her own, before turning back to the Peacekeepers that were marching towards her. The girls around her stepped away from her, giving her space, and also showing the Peacekeepers who exactly they were looking for.

Anna was white, and her lip was quivering, but if she wanted to cry, she didn't. Crying didn't earn pity in the Games, only disgust. Anna was smart. Anna was strong.

Anna wasn't coming back.

"Anna!"

She didn't know when she moved, but eventually she did. She had already pushed pass all the other eighteen-year-olds, and she was making her way to the aisle.

"Anna!"

Some peacekeepers were already coming her way, barring her from going further. She drew back slightly when she came in contact with them. Though there was her fabric - and their armor, - she didn't want to risk forming any frost on them. Lord knows how much she wanted to now.

However, the Peacekeepers in front were still drawing her sister away, up to the stage. They were going to take Anna away forever.

That night of the fire, she had been frozen to the ground, just watching her life crumble with the flames. She still blamed herself for that, though Anna didn't – nor could possibly – understand.

That wasn't going to happen again.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The Peacekeepers halted their march. A hush went around her word sunk in. In District 12, those weren't words you heard everyday.

Slowly, the Peacekeepers standing before Elsa moved off. Silence filled the square as she wove her way through the guards, to where her sister gawked at her with large eyes.

"Elsa?" It seemed more like a plea than question.

Elsa drew herself up tall, blinking back any tears. Too many cameras about. "You'll be fine, Anna." Seeing the girl was unconvinced, she added, "Hans will look after you."

He wouldn't be the first person that Elsa would have chosen to bring up. She didn't like him much – correction – she didn't like him; sure he was nice, caring, and handsome, but she somehow didn't trust him. Maybe because Anna had started dating him without asking for her permission; maybe because she resented the fact that he lived in the merchant section.

But if he was all her sister was going to have now, he would have to be enough.

"See you later, Anna." She meant that short period of time before the train ride that families used to bid farewell.

She turned away from Anna, ignoring her cries. She bit her tongues, willing herself to not look back, lest she run away. Every other child of District 12 had their eyes glued to her, as she stepped down the dirt path. Averting her own eyes from them, she began chanting silently to herself, _"Don't them in, Don't let them see. Be the good girl, you'd always have to be. _"

She tried to keep calm, as the Peacekeepers now flanked her as they strode forward. As she ascended the stage, her arms were shaking and she could feel the frost building in the gloves. Not good. _"Conceal, don't feel."_

The whole Panem was watching through the millions of cameras that surrounded the stage_. _She raised her head, glaring through her tears, defiant and proud. _"Put on a show."_

The Capitol Escort then asked for her name, which she gave unwillingly. The escort then said something that was meant to be funny, but apparently no one found it so.

She wasn't sure who started it, but then somehow people in the square started raising the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips, then it holding out to her. It was an old salute of respect.

She knew that, because she had seen people do that at her parents' funeral.

The capitol escort seemed note the tension and scurried off to deal with the reaping bowl for boys. Elsa was relieved. She needed to some time to collect herself. Gloves or not, she was certain she could freeze the whole square then and there.

When the name of the male tribute was read out, for the second time of the day, Elsa felt that strange breathlessness.

It was Hans.

_Oh, Anna…_

* * *

><p><strong>Story Notes<strong>

**Just refreshers in case you guys don't remember:**

**District 2 – Masonry, Peacekeepers**

**District 5 – Power, Electricity**

**District 8 – Textiles, Fabrics**

**District 10 – Livestock**

**District 12 – Coal (If you don't know this… you've probably never read THG)**

**More refreshers, ages:**

**Elsa – 18 (So Anna's abt 2-3 years younger)**

**Jack – 17**

**Rapunzel – 16**

**Merida – 16**

**Hiccup –15**

**When more characters come in, more ages would be updated.**

**In case you don't know, Kai and Greta are servants in the palace in Frozen. Wiki them! **

**The Capitol escorts aren't anyone special, so don't kill yourself guessing who they are.**

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN**

**Wow! 5 reviews! Awesome! I'm so continuing this (besides the fact that it's lots of fun) **

**Mailbox:****Meganqueen1: I suppose this chapter answered that question. Am I so predictable?****  
><strong>**To be fair, I made obvious that Anna wasn't going to be in the Games, and if no Anna, means no Kristoff, so... Fine, I'm predictable.**

**Guest: Romance? Oh yes! Lots of it. Maybe not fluffy sort, or the hardcore heartache, but it's definitely there. Most ships will canon to their respective movies, except for one particular 'crack ship' (don't worry. If you are browsing through this sub-category, chances are you love this ship already.)****  
><strong>**Eugene won't be making an appearance until much later. Flynn, on the other hand…**

**Luvy Duvy: Yes! Glad you like the concept as much as I do! Hope this update didn't keep you waiting! The next one will have to be really be Nov though. (must be disciplined! Must be disciplined! …but I've started writing it anyways…). ****Thanks for the title ideas! (though I didn't use them, but they helped)**

**Elsa Arendelle: Thanks for the title ideas! I'm glad you enjoyed reading the first chapter. Hope you liked this too.**

**Guest: I'm glad that I'm not doing to shabbily compared the other THG AU. I'm really hoping maintain this level (or get better!)**

**Okay! That's all till Nov! I hope you guys enjoyed this early update (because I should really go and do schoolwork now). **

**Questions! Critques! Comment! Go ahead!**


	3. Chapter 2: Saying Goodbye, Or Not

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 2: Saying Goodbye, Or Not

* * *

><p><strong>District 12 <strong>

The minute the Peacekeepers dismissed them, she wormed her way through the crowds of relieved children, edging her way to where the boys were. Her eyes darted about, anxiously seeking out a certain stocky blonde-haired gentlemen.

Finally, she caught sight of him drifting from the crowd, on the path back to their village.

"Christopher!" She called, freeing herself from the other children as she made a mad dash towards him.

"It's Kristoff," he corrected, annoyed, but his attitude mellowed when he recognised the caller. "Anna? Hang a sec, isn't your - shouldn't you be -"

"I know, I know," she interrupted, "That's why I need _it_ right now." Seing the blank expression on his face, she elaborated, "Y'know, that thing I asked for last week." She made a gesture with her hands.

Finally catching on, he led her from the path to the Hob instead. It was pretty far from the town square, but with them dashing all the way there, it hardly felt like a minute when both them skidded to a stop at the front gate. Not even wasting a moment to shake off the snow on their coats, they hurried into the dark, dank zinc house.

Most work places closed on reaping day, but the Hob never did. It wasn't that the Hob people were especially desperate compared to their neighbours, but the black market was a place that the backstreet folk could be themselves, not under the cautious scrutiny of Peacekeepers - a hangout joint, if you will.

The blonde boy zipped his way to the little stall that his mother ran, with the strawberry-blonde close at his heels. "Ma!" He greeted briefly, before leaping over the stall table, then diving under it as he searched for something.

"About time you've got back," his mother chided, but Anna noted she was in really good-spirits. "That reindeer of yours needs feeding." She supposed that it was relief. Relief that her boy missed the bullet for another year.

Another year - that's all it would have taken for Elsa to be leave the reaping. Anna bit her lip in bitterness.

Bulda - that's Kristoff's mother - then finally noticed her, and remarked with a cheeky grin, "Well, well, if you aren't that girl Kristoff's always mooning about."

Anna could only blink at that.

"Mum, now's a _really_ bad time to bring that up," she heard Kristoff hiss from below the table.

Bulda burst into a fit of giggles when she took a closer look at Anna, only to stop suddenly. "Oh my," she gasped, as realization struck her. Peering carefully at Anna's face, her voice turned from one of teasing to sympathy, "I'm so terribly sorry, dear."

"It's alright," Anna quickly said. She hoped the lady missed the catch in her throat. As far as she knew, Elsa never cried, so she wouldn't either, even if her world had been torn to shred just five minutes ago.

"You poor darling!" Bulda exclaimed, just as Anna found herself buried in the arms of the stocky woman. Sure, the lady had a tight grip, but Anna didn't find the embrace especially horrible. The lady smelled of damp grassy mosses and rosemary, which was an oddly pleasant fragrance. Besides, it had been ages since Anna had a proper hug.

"Your sister's very brave," Bulda had carried on speaking, drawing back to hold Anna by the shoulders. "Just like your parents. Your father was the best mayor this city ever had. No one stood up for the common folk like he did."

Anna nodded. Bulda, like many people of the District, were always in praise of her parents. Sometimes she wondered whether her parents really did half the things folks said they did.

"Got it!" was Kristoff's triumphant shout. When he scrambled out, Anna saw a small paper packet in his hand. To her, he said, "Let's go."

A wave as farewell to Bulda, Anna followed Kristoff once again as both of them headed back to the road. Anna wasn't the most athletic, but she kept up well enough with Kristoff, till both of them stumbled in front of the Justice Building.

Both of them clambered up the steps. Anna hoped with all her might that they weren't too late. She had heard that Peacekeepers refused visitors when they were late.

Glancing at their firearms warily, she gulped. With as much confidence as she could, as she declared, "I'm here to see my sister."

It was stony silence as the masked guards stared down at them. Just when Anna was sure they would turn them away, one guard stepped aside and opened the door.

Anna gratefully slipped into the hall, but Kristoff was stopped at the door. Hastily, Anna threw in, "He's a family friend!"

It wasn't completely an untruth. Kristoff sometimes stop by their house for a variety of reasons - mostly, like sweeping off leaves off their porch during autumn, or shoveling snow in winter. At times, he would bring his reindeer, Sven, and let Anna pet him and play with him - even once sang a 'duet' with him! Elsa got on especially well with the blonde boy, since both of them shared an interest in ice-craft. True, Elsa refused to pick up either hammer or chisel, but she'd like to stand and watch as Kristoff attempted to 'unveil the face beneath the ice', only to fail miserably.

Every winter, during their parents' death anniversary, he would turn up at the memorial whenever they did to deliver his own bundle of flowers. He claimed his mother prepared them, but Anna once caught him debating with Sven whether to gather some daffodils or lilies.

He wasn't just a friend. He was a good friend.

A moment of contemplation later, the guard lowered his hand and Kristoff slunk in, casting a derisive glance at them, before mouthing at Anna, "Jerks." For the first time since the reaping, Anna smiled.

Two other Peacekeepers marched them down the corridor, until they finally reached the two doors at the end of the corner. A small waiting area was set up in the corridor, where she was pleasantly surprised to find Kai and Greta, the genial couple standing by the wall. Though silent, Kai gave her a sympathetic squeeze, while Greta took one of her hands and warmed it with her own.

"She's waiting for you." She nodded at the brown door on the right, where a Peacekeeper stood. On the left was another door, where another Peacekeeper guarded. Anna was certain she knew who sat behind it.

Kristoff shoved a paper packet - the paper packet - towards her. "Here."

Unwrapping, she was delighted to see the black little token was even more beautiful than she had imagined.

"It's brilliant!" She exclaimed, causing the boy to turn rather red.

Spinning away, he replied, "Well, coal-craft's easier than ice. I still think your sister would have liked an ice token better."

"Well, it wouldn't last," she told him, still gleefully admiring the little masterpiece. Then smile fell away as she turned to him, anxious. "You know I can't pay you till spring."

"Don't worry about it. It's on the house," he answered, still not looking her in the eye. Anna just beamed at him, both thankful and relieved. She doubted she could pay even by spring.

One of the Peacekeepers cleared his throat. Anna shot up straight. The trains would be coming for them soon.

_Them... _the two most important people in her entire life. And the Capitol would take them both at once.

Drawing a deep breath, she beckoned Kristoff. "C'mon."

Kristoff raised a brow, pointing out, "Isn't it always family members first? I don't want to intrude in any 'girl-talk'."

"Well, if you go in alone later, there'd probably just be awkward silence," Anna retorted, maybe a bit more sharply than she should have. After all, he had just given her the token for free. Staring at the two opposing doors strung her rather tight.

Joining Anna in front of the right door, the Peacekeeper let them in, muttering something about time.

Elsa was seated on the armchair in the centre of the richly decorated room. Her back was straight up, with her two hands folded over her lap. Her calm dignity had an air of regality that reminded Anna of the kings, and queens, of old.

"Hey," Anna greeted as cheerfully as she could muster. She heard the door shut behind her. She supposed the Peacekeepers were counting down now.

"Hello, Anna."

The awkwardness – Anna'd rather think of it as awkwardness than tension - was so thick that you could cut it. Kristoff, who was probably regretting coming in after all, moved to a far corner to give them space. As if there wasn't already too much.

Suddenly, Anna wondered if Elsa was mad. After all, she did make quite spectacle outside with crying and clinging. It couldn't look very good on Elsa's image.

So she blurted out, "I'm sorry for the whole thingy just now, - you know, the weepin' and wailin' stuff - not that I'm sorry about crying" - wringing her arms together - "because I would do it again. Well, not on purpose," – she sniffed involuntarily- "because it supposed to be emotionally-charged or something, but I wouldn't just start crying and stuff to ruin your stuff on TV – Wait, what?"

"Anna," Elsa's voice was kind. It was only then Anna noticed the tears trickling down her own cheeks.

"Oh, whoops." Anna laughed shakily, wiping them off with her arm-sleeves. When she turned back to Elsa, her sister suddenly gave a small giggle.

Taken aback but smiling too, Anna asked, "What? Is there something on my face?" She turned to a nearby mirror to check her appearance. Her guess was apparently accurate, since now she had nice black stripes on both cheeks. She supposed the soot in the Hob got to her sleeves somehow.

"Oh, look, I'm a tiger," she told the blonde girl whimsically, though she couldn't clear the lump at the back of her throat. Elsa burst into a merry chortle – a rare sound to behold - and Anna gladly joined in, though she couldn't stop the new tears from tumbling down her face. She tried to wipe them with her sleeves again, only to make the soot marks more apparent.

"Here, let me help," Elsa offered, rising from her seat. She removed a napkin from her pocket as she dab off tears and soot from her sister's red face.

Anna noted the patterns on the ends of napkins, as well as on the ends of Elsa's gloves. When they first moved to the Seam, Elsa was adamant they wouldn't work in the mines – they weren't physically cut out for it. Instead, she started experimenting with the old woodwork art that their father had taught them before – _rosemaling_, and decorating anything from clothes to porcelain with them. It didn't get a market in the Seam itself, but there was a substantial demand from the merchant district, and that kept them fed.

Elsa shouldn't be the one going. People loved her patterns at least. Anna could only copy them.

Elsa's expression turned from one of cheerfulness to concern. "Anna, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine." Yes, _of course_ she was lying, but what else could she say? That she was about to lose the last of her family? That her first ever boyfriend was leaving at the same time? That she'd probably to watch them tear out each other's throats, for the sick entertainment of wackos in weird feathers?

She tried to turn the question around. "What about you? You okay?"

Admittedly, maybe saying the other three statements would have been less stupid.

Elsa sighed deeply, before she replied in quiet voice, " I…I have come to accept what's going to happen. My question is, _have you_?"

That caught Anna by surprise. "I…I…" She decided to speak her mind. Crossly, she told her, "You shouldn't have volunteered."

"Anna-"

"I know I'm no big-shot, but hey, at least I've fought some boys in elementary school-"

"Anna-"

"And you don't like hitting people. You'd go into the frosty 'ice-glare' mode. But in _there_, they're not go'nna wait for you to turn on your 'superpowers'-"

"Anna!"

A sudden chill shot through the room, sending Anna a chill down her spine. She wondered if she had imagined it, but Kristoff seemed to be shivering too. From the corner of her eye, she could see the boy was pressing himself against the wall, like he was trying to sink into the wallpaper. He was clearly uncomfortable, and for the first times, she was sorry for him. He didn't need to see this.

Gazing out of the window, Elsa said, "After our parents passed, I promised myself I'd care for you. _This_," – she made a vague gesture around them -"is the least I could do, considering that…" She trailed off, still not meeting Anna's eyes, clenching her fists.

The red-head was couldn't hide the acrimony in her tone. "Well, maybe instead of caring _for_ me, didn't you ever think of – _I don't know_ – caring about what _I_ thought? Not that you've done that before." She added slightingly before she could stop herself.

Elsa now glanced up sharply at Anna, raising her brow. "If this is about Hans, he's two years older than you, and you barely know him."

Anna couldn't ignore the sneering tone. "Well, maybe you think that because _you_ don't know him. Had it ever occurred you to try? For my sake?"

"Why, of course! That would make the present situation _so much_ better!"

Anna felt like she had been slapped by a sudden gust of cold wind, and see drew back like she had. Elsa's mouth dropped open, and for a moment she seemed like she was going to apologise. Instead, tugging on her gloves, she said, "You should go see him. The trains would be leaving soon."

"Right," Anna replied softly, pulling on one of her braids. She was about to turn away when she remembered. "Oh," - removing the black token from waist pocket –"here."

Elsa gave a curious look, before taken it into her hands. Her fingers ran over the embossed design on its octagonal surface. "A crocus," she smiled slightly in recognition. It was their mother's favourite flower – a symbol of rebirth and spring, she had said.

"Christopher made it," Anna told her. "Coal-craft stuff."

"Kristoff," a voice interjected dispassionately.

"It's lovely." Elsa nodded gratefully at him. He blushed again. Anna had to admit he was rather cute when he did that.

Then, the door burst open. "Time's up."

Anna didn't resist when they dragged her out. Kristoff's took a bit longer though, since Elsa pulled him up for a moment to tell him something. When he joined her outside the room, he shot the Peacekeepers a dirty look, then turned to her.

"You know, you didn't exactly say goodbye," he pointed out.

She snapped at him. "Oh, you were _eavesdropping_?"

"_Hello_? You asked me to come in with you, and you didn't specify 'cover ears' or what-not."

"Oh, right," she mumbled, embarrassed, scooping a strand of brown hair behind her ear. Kai and Greta were now shown into Elsa's room, while Anna stood staring at the door right in front of her.

He was getting impatient. "You going in?"

"Do you have a knife?"

He removed one from an inside pocket and handed it to her. She then undid one of her braids, grabbing a lock, then hacking it off with the blade. With that done, she returned it to him.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"I read that girls gave a lock of hair as memory gifts in the past, " she explained, straightening the lock in her hand. She had been careful to cut one with some white hair in it. It was her trademark after all.

The blonde boy just stared at her.

She rolled her eyes at him. "C'mon." She beckoned him to this door instead.

Kristoff thought a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, I'll pass on this one. He's your _boyfriend_." She noted he said that rather sourly.

Anna was going to explain that she needed some moral support, but she supposed that he'd 'suffered' enough. So she nodded. "Thanks for being here, anyway."

"No prob," he answered – probably being polite, Anna assumed. He tipped his hat, then headed down the corridor.

Tightening her fist around the lock in her hand, Anna nodded at the Peacekeeper. "I'd like to go in please."

He muttered something about time before he let her in. As she did, she felt a building dread, when she finally confessed to herself what she didn't want to confess.

Even if she were that lucky, only one of them would have a chance of coming home.

* * *

><p><strong>District 10 <strong>

She wasn't old enough to be reaped, but she was old enough to understand the implications of it. The capitol made sure that education systems, even though in the 'poorer' districts, were capable of that.

"Hey, kid."

Her response was to sprint up him, sprawl her arms over his shoulders and bury her face in his neck.

"Hey, hey! What's wrong?"

She understood that the Capitol was scary, so when they asked for something, the Districts did it for them. She also understood that the Capitol wanted revenge. What she didn't understand was why the Capitol had to _have_ that revenge.

She had learnt from her Pa, then her Ma, that when people did you wrong, you had to forgive them. It would be painful, and you'd hate to, but if you didn't, you couldn't move on with your life.

Apparently the Capitol wasn't very good at forgiving.

Gently, he detached her arms from himself, settling her down on his lap. Wringing her hands together, she told him, "I'm scared, Jack."

"Still?" He raised a brow. "C'mon, I'm even not dead yet."

She stared up at him with unblinking eyes, trying to remember exactly how he looked like; his warm brown eyes, his chocolate-brown hair, the spray of freckles on his cheeks.

His laugh! She needed to remember his laugh.

"Jack," she asked him anxiously, "can you laugh?"

He raised a brow at her. "Laugh?"

She nodded her head eagerly. "Yes, now."

He shot her a quizzical expression, but he gave a little chortle.

Emma cringed. It was too dry. Too sad.

"That's not a real laugh," she scolded, hitting his stomach lightly.

"Well, _sorry_," he said with mock irritation. Then a wicked gleam lit up in his eyes. "Tell you what; I'll laugh if you laugh."

"What!" She ejaculated.

"Fair trade," he teased, ruffling her hair a bit. "C'mon, a little chuckle from _you_ gets a chuckle from _meeee_."

She only gave him a pout, then a frown.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself then."

She sighed in defeat. She supposed he wasn't going to give her a real laugh then.

She knew that the mean Peacekeepers outside were going to call them out soon, so she moved on to the next thing on her list. "Jack, can you tell me a story?"

Her elder brother raised his brow at her again in amusement, before glancing at their mother. She gave a small smile and nodded.

So Jack told her a story. It was about Jack Frost again, since he knew it was one of her favorites, and also because both himself and the mythical winter spirit shared the same name. However, this time he told a new story.

It was about a little girl, and how she was always sad, because she was lonely and didn't have anyone to play with. Jack Frost felt sorry for her – sure he was ice-cold, but he had a warm heart, and he wanted to make the little girl happy. But he was a spirit, and she was a human. She couldn't see him, hear him or touch him. There was nothing he could do.

One winter's day, he saw her building a snowman all by herself. Then, an idea struck him. He sprayed some magic snow onto the Snowman and made him come to life! The little girl was delighted, of course. She and snowman played for hours together; they had snowball fights, sledding and even ice-skating!

The snowman stayed as the girl's constant companion through the winter, but before the last ice thawed, it was soon time to go. You see, the snowman wasn't really alive – it was Jack Frost's magic that him going, and when the time for winter was over, Jack had to move too, and the snowman could only be where Jack Frost was.

The little girl was devastated, and it almost broke Jack's heart. Then he came up with another idea! Through the snowman, he promised the little girl that he (as the snowman, certainly) would return in the winter to play with her. All she needed to do at the end of autumn was to go to the frozen lake near her home, build the snowman again, then repeat his name three times and believe, with all her might. Then, and only then, he could come back to her.

The little girl then asked for his name. Jack Frost tried to tell her his name, but the snowman's lips was made of a stiff little twig, and it couldn't get all the words out. So all the girl could hear was '-Frost –Frost'.

"-And that's how Frosty the Snowman really came about," the brown-eyed boy finished. "It was all thanks to Jack Frost."

Emma just stared incredulously at him, then burst into jovial chuckle. "That's the _silliest_ story I've ever heard," she cried, shaking her head at her brother.

"Aha! But I made you laugh!" The boy pointed out triumphantly, giving a whoop, then a full-blown chortle.

A genuine laugh; full of mischief and merriment. Emma kept absolutely still as she watched her brother throwing his head back, cackling in true gaiety. That was a sound she would keep at the back of her head, and forever in her heart.

"Y'know, the story's true," he held, though a twinkle in his eye betrayed him.

"Of course it is." Emma's eyes were dancing knowingly.

"Hey, it is. Serious," he insisted, though his sister continued sniggering doubtingly. Brushing back her bangs for her, he looked into her eyes, and asked, "Emma, do you believe in me?"

Emma's spirit was one full of fear, full of anxiety, which was hardly healthy for a child, and unfortunately common in the district. But her spirit was also one of wonder; of dreams; of hope. Emma had unquestioning faith in her brother, as ridiculous as it sounded.

"I believe in you, Jack."

"So, as long as you believe in me, I will come back," he told her, without a trace of hesitation. "I promise."

He kissed gently on the temple, then embraced her for the last time. Emma continued clinging to him tightly, refusing to budge even when the Peacekeepers came in and their mother had to pry her off from Jack's wiry form.

As her mother carried her away out of Justice Building, Emma just kept whispering, with desperate hope, "I believe. I believe."

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**Rosemaling – Norwegian decorative painting. Usually used in woodwork. Used generously in designing everything in Frozen, even Elsa's ice dress.**

**The Crocus is part of the Arendelle crest.**

**The Story of 'Frosty the Snowman' is original and specific to this story. (The real story is in the song. Y'know, the Christmas one.)**

**A/N:**

**I'm back! With project stuff over, I'm now aiming to update this once a week. But to make sure I update my other fic too, I'm forcing myself to alternate between the two.**

**Mailbox: **

**Elsa Arendelle: Thanks for your review! Originally, I wrote the visits from the POV of the Big Four (Five), but then your review inspired me to try changing POVs – which ended up with Anna's part alone taking up 2000+ words! In the future, I think I'll be experimenting with various POVs. **

**AmyMilo: A simple review is more than enough to make me feel that the story is appreciated, so thank you for reviewing all the same.**

**I realised the price of character development is lot and lots of words. And time. So either for a single event I'll cut down the no. of perspectives on it, or I'll keep the perspectives really short, if not I'm never finishing. When it's important enough though, I'll just let the words flow. Hope you guys don't hate reading long chapters much.**

**Next chapter would give more hints on who's going to into the games. And…I think it would inevitably feature more backstories of our beloved characters in this alternate universe. (hence what I said about character development). Any guess for who I'm bringing in? **

**Reviews are appreciated, questions are welcome and critiques are treasured.**

**See ya next week.**


	4. Chapter 3: How to Get Your Mentor's Help

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 3: How to Get Your Mentor's Help _OR_ How to Completely Ignore them

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><p><strong>District 8 Allocated Train Cabin<strong>

He had managed to go somewhat _A.W.O.L._ during the Reaping, but he knew that not getting on the train would sign his death warrant, so when the guards had come to drag him to the station, he hadn't resisted.

The minute he boarded though, he immediately took refuge in a remote lounge cabin. There, he remembered was taking a nice little nap on a comfy purple sofa in the sitting room, listening to calming hum of Bach's lullaby.

But where he woke up to was definitely not the same place as before

It was dark, and a bit cold. He sighed. Did the Capitol ever bother fixing the heating in their trains?

He tried to move, but found himself quite unable to. He could twist his wrists slightly, move his neck and maybe wriggle his toes, but that was it. Every part of him was somehow stuck to this horribly uncomfortable chair.

"Strug-struggling is pointless."

His head shot up, spinning around but all he saw was black, black and black.

Out of nowhere, a flash of light appeared. He groaned as he shut his eyes immediately. Daring a peek, he slowly opened them again, allowing his vision to be attacked by the million of black splotches that eventually turned to colour. Squinting, he vaguely made out that there was the lightbulb over him. Glancing around, he decided that he must be one of those empty storage cabins. Feeling the vibration underneath his feet, he heaved a sigh of relief. At least he was still on the train. Subconsciously, he tried to yank of his arms out of the - _hair_?

"Struggling is pointless."

He frowned, scanning around for the source of the voice. Only then did he noticed that not only was bound to the chair with golden hair, there was also a tiny green reptile sitting on his knee.

His jaw slackened. Was this tiny green creature the one talking to him? Was it the one who tied him up in hair? Had he been kidnapped by _aliens_?

"You're name is Finn Rider, correct?"

He squinted at the reptile - frog? He wasn't too familiar with the species. The green creature was wearing a rather unamused expression. If possible for its little face to bear such an expression.

"Well?" The frog didn't open its mouth at that time. But the way it narrowed its eyes at him seemed to indicate otherwise.

He had to going mad. _Frogs_ don't talk!

"Over here." Suddenly his neck swung in a new direction and found himself staring at a human face.

She had bright green eyes and stubby little nose. A deep red flush brought out the light freckles on her fair skin, and her pink lips were twisted in a definite frown. She was a blonde - not his favourite colour - and he noticed in one hand she was holding a long cord of hair in one hand.

"Wait, is all this,"- he scanned all the cords around him, then the blonde in front of him - "_hair_?"

"Finn Rider, yes?" She said to him slowly this time, perhaps thinking that he was stupid. Maybe he was, considering it took him that long to realized that the frog -

Oh gosh, _where did the frog go_! His eyes darted around frantically as he searched for the strange animal, only halting in relief when they landed on the girl's shoulder. The reptile was sitting there, still bearing the emotionless expression. Undeniably, the girl was much easier to look at.

Meeting her scrutiny, he begun crossly, "Alright, blondie-"

"Rapunzel," she interrupted shortly, folding her arms.

"_Gesundheit_," he retorted, "firstly, the name is _Flynn _Rider. Not _Finn_ - I am _not_ a fish part - but Flynn. Secondly," he spluttered a bit, "how can you know _not_ that?"

Her brow shot up. "Know what?"

"How can you make a mistake in my name? C'mon! I've gotta be, like, _the _most famous guy in - you don't know who I am, do you?" He dejectedly asked the blank-faced girl.

She shrugged. "The television time in the orphanage was rather limited. But," she drew his chair up close, such that their faces were only inches apart - "this isn't about you, _Flynn_ Rider. Rather, this is about what you are going to do for me."

His expression spelt out his disbelief. "What?"

"Hook Hand," the girl ignored his interjection and dropped the chair back, starting to circle around him instead, "has been kind enough to inform me how treated your previous mentees - by being completely useless and irresponsible!" She threw up her hands in the air. "What kind of mentor switches off the television whenever his mentees are on, then switches it back when they're not?"

"Darlin', it's called _survival_," he murmured dryly, squinting at the bulb to avoid looking at the girl altogether. If he was right about who she was, he didn't want to get to know her at all, emphasis on 'at all'.

"And the advice you give? _'Don't die'_?" She went on, as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm sure your last three mentees appreciated it."

"Till you do it, don't judge," was his flippant reply, though anyone else watching would noted the pained look in his eyes.

"I refuse to have that," the blonde - Rapunzel, she had said, - declared defiantly. "_You_," she pointed at him dramatically, "are going to teach me everything I need to learn to win these games."

He just deadpanned at her.

Noting the lack of response, she drew herself up to full height - which wasn't very tall in his opinion - and repeated, "You are going to help me win these Games."

Boy, she was serious. Flynn couldn't help feeling sorry for her, considering he knew his answer. "_No can do_. Sorry."

Her brows furrowed. "It wasn't an option."

He made a snort, followed by a sardonic cackle. "Oh," he cried between guffaws, "like _you_ can make me do anything!"

The girl seemed somewhat taken aback by his less-than-enthusiastic response, casting a questioning glance at the reptile on her shoulder.

With one of his front paws balled into a fist - was that even possible? -, the reptile made a smashing gesture. With renewed resolve, the girl's green eyes suddenly hardened like agates. When she returned to gaze at him, Flynn, despite his bravado, instinctively flinched away.

"Let me get this clear, _Mr. Rider_," she begun a slow, menacing approach towards him, "I don't know what made you my mentor. Fate, destiny,-"

"A bad lot," he interjected with annoyance. " I swear those thugs rig the dice. Three years in a row is too obvious..."

"Whatever," she waved it away dismissively, continuing on slowly. "I have made the decision to trust you-"

"-a horrible decision, really," he cut in impassively.

"But trust me," she made clear emphasis on the last two words, glaring icily at him, "when I say, I will do _whatever_ it takes to make you help me."

After some hasty mental calculations, he changed his methods. Meeting the hard green eyes, he answered, "Blondie, if you want my help, you've gotta prove you're worth my time."

As expected, the girl was thrown off again. "Prove myself?"

"Are you good at running, shooting maybe?" He gave some examples. "Got some secret talent in martial arts or swordsmanship?"

She thought for a moment, then her face brightened up. "I've my hair! And I can throw darts! Well, sort of," she added unsurely.

His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah…that's definitely going to help. Look, kid," it was his turn to lean forward, "you want my help? Show me something, _anything_, that going to keep the Careers from 1,2 and 4 from spilling your guts at Bloodbath. Oh, the hair has to go," - he nodded at the golden loops around his body, - "it's an athletic hindr- "

"NO!" Her cry was immediate and unquestioning. Her face turned a bright red with fury and fear.

He was taken aback, but slipped back into his nonchalant behavior in no time. Shrugging, he said, "Suit yourself."

Seeing her slumped shoulders, he almost felt sorry for her – _almost -_ but he hardened his heart. He would not feel anything towards her, no compassion, no pity, not even distaste-

_Wait_, what was she doing?

Rapunzel had taken the moment to open up the side door of the cargo cabin, exposing them both to the beating wind outside. Though the train was travelling rapidly, it was still slow enough for him to catch a beautiful view of the gorge below the tracks.

Spinning towards him, she called above the wind determinedly, "You want me to show you what I've got? Well, I'll _show_ you! And I'll let you see, " -she grabbed his chair and started dragging him towards the door -"why my hair is an advantage. Especially" -she smirked -"for you."

Okay, now he was scared. He demanded, panicky, " What are you doing?"

Without another word, she looped her hair over a hook, that was hanging outside the cabin door on a pulley.. With that done, she gave the chair a hard shove, sending it plummeting down the gorge.

Listening to the screams for a few moments, she finally tightened her grip around her sliding hair, yanking the screams to unexpected 'oomphf!'

"Should I pull him up now?" she inquired of the chameleon on her shoulder. The chameleon paused to contemplate this, then shook his head.

Rapunzel relaxed her grip, as the shrieks resounded in the gorge below.

* * *

><p><strong>District 5 Allocated Train Cabin<strong>

Merida wished that Mayors could double as mentors, then her father could be their mentor, instead of this crazy old hag –um– lady.

Yes, _their_ mentor. She had to share her mentor with Wee Dingwall, the half-Wit, (she refused to call him just 'Wee' - that would just be undignified).

And the old coot was nuts! She spent most of time half the time telling stories that were of no relevance whatsoever, and the other half carving wooden bear sculptures. Merida wasn't surprised that District 5 hadn't had a victor for ages. After all, a good mentor could be deciding factor your success in the Games; they settled your sponsors, set up your public image etc.

Wee Dingwall was staring of in space already, and the crazy old hag was gabbing on to her pet crow now. Merida groaned and rolled her eyes. Sliding off her chair, she grabbed a plate of sugared buns and she headed to the television instead.

All channels were playing the same thing; the recap of the reaping. Setting the mountain of buns on the coffee table, she made herself comfortable on the sofa and watched.

The reaping results were in order, so District 1 came first. She leaned forward keenly. During the last farewell, her father had warned her to be wary of the Career districts – '_Never_ form allies with them,' he had said, 'they'd turn on you the second you strike their ire. Better make it on your own." Merida heartily approved of this advice. She wasn't the team type, anyway.

The male tribute of District 1 was not very tall, but the way he carried himself you'd think he was. His hair was a dirty white color, with its ends dyed red. Merida cringed in disgust. Sure, District 1 was all about luxury goods, but highlighting your whole head white – urgh, the _maintenance_. He didn't look especially strong, but the way he preened with arrogance and pride somehow sent shivers down her spine. The female tribute on the other hand was just as confident and cocky, but somehow she lacked the 'scare factor' her counterpart had. As far as Merida could tell, she was just a vain pot.

When District 2 came on, she was in for pleasant surprise. Both tributes were rather short and wiry, instead of the bulky, brawny archetype that the Peacekeeper district had a habit of producing. She cackled when they did a close-up on the boy. He was so small and gangly – like a talking fishbone! He was kind of cute though, in an awkward, dorky way. She sighed. He would die the minute the gong went.

The girl, on the other hand, was not only striking in appearance, she was tough. Sweeping back her stringy blonde bangs, Merida recognized the determined expression that hardened her facial features. She had seen it on her mother's face many times, and occasionally caught sight of it in a reflection of her own face. The girl crunched thoughtfully on the sugar bun, shaking back her copper curls. She had better step lightly around that one.

District 3 tributes didn't look like much. The boy was rather young in age, with his jet-black hair sprayed like spikes around his head. The girl appeared much older, but her bonyness and jumpy manner average out to 'harmless'. Merida had to admit; straight hair looked good on her.

District 4's girl came across as the shy, pretty high school bimbo with her black braid plait by her side. Her male counterpart, however, appeared not only fearsome, but undeniably insane as well. As he dashed up the steps, he was roaring to the crowds before him, giving a victorious hoot while they cheered. The dark bruised over one of his eyes only added to his deranged appearance. Merida shuddered. _Careers_.

Wee Dingwall and herself were next. Television didn't bring out the best of Wee Dingwall, but it did give several good shots of her volunteering and ascending the stage. The cameras, however, had also captured her parents' reaction. Both of them were seated just behind, as the mayor and his wife did every year. Her father was just gawking throughout the whole thing, while her mother's face was one of disbelief, then anger, then – _devastation_.

Merida couldn't help feeling guilty at that point. During the farewells, her mother had been rather stiff, as if she wasn't forcing herself not scold her daughter for once. Merida had tried to explain her point of view, that she wanted bring the Capitol's favor to their district, - just not in the way her mother wanted. Her mother had seemed bursting to say something to her, but her last words were just, 'Remember to Smile.'

It wasn't poor advice. Capitol folk loved cheerful tributes. It was just that she had hoped for - well, _something else._

Brushing away her feelings, she listlessly watched as the television displayed the short goofs from District 6. The boy seemed to be giggling to himself - rather creepily, Merida felt, - while the girl just started crying. Both didn't look older than fifteen.

District 7's lots were apparently a sibling, no, _twin_ team – the female had volunteered after her brother was reaped. They were tall, muscular, and heavyweight. She'd best avoid those two, and hope they don't join the Careers. It was some kind of twisted Hunger Games tradition that the Careers allied together, but it was not unheard of for them to pick up some worthy ones to add to their numbers.

District 8's boy looked like the brute type, but didn't look too bright. The female tribute appeared rather innocuous, but she was interesting though. Was her golden hair really that long? Well, her disadvantage, if she keeps it.

District 9's were so unremarkable that she glossed them over.

District 10 had a rather petite, yet feisty looking girl, but the male tribute just overshadowed her completely. From all the 'Capitol education' she got from her mother, she knew that they adored the tall, skinny, baby-faced type. There would be girls fawning over him the minute he hits the Capitol - and that meant lots of sponsors. Lucky dog. Still, he seemed too nice to be any real danger.

The next district once again provided an interesting contrast. The male tribute was definitely seventeen or eighteen, with broad shoulder and especially large-hands – he could probably smash rocks to crumbs! The small girl that stood to him certain made a juxtaposition. She wore colourful hair-slides in her glossy black hair, while tucking her hands in her green hoodie pockets. If it wasn't for the place and time, she seemed the type who would love some good mischief – quite like Merida's own brother. She sighed, wondering what the triplet were doing now. Were they wrecking up some factory again? Or stealing cakes from the bakery?

Or maybe they were anxiously watching the television, waiting for their fiery-haired sister to come home.

Pushing thoughts of home from her mind, she focused on District 12 instead. When the female tribute was called out, a redheaded girl was taken up to the pathway, but then it stopped when a blonde girl behind raised her arm up high, yelling the exact words that Merida had. The commentator went on to explain that it was actually that two were actually sisters, and the platinum blonde was the elder.

Merida couldn't ignore the self-reproach nagging her, so much that she switched off the television before the male tribute came on.

This girl had stepped up to volunteer; not because she was Career, not because she wanted to pursue 'her own destiny', but to save her sister. That was admirable. That was courageous. That was _heroic_.

And what had she, Merida DunBroch, just done?

The response of her family members during the farewell rushed into memory; her father's pride mixed with sorrow; her brother's downcast faces as she mussed their hairs; her mother's watery smile, only to turn into broken sobs outside the room.

Maybe for the first time since she conceived the idea, Merida felt remorse about her decision.

* * *

><p><strong>District 12 Allocated Train Cabin <strong>

"Sandwich?"

She glared at him icily.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the message. "It's tuna and mayonnaise. Or if you're not the mayo type, I've made a ham and cheese. And there's a peanut butter jelly one. One of the best in the world, if you ask me-"

"No." He seemed severely shocked at her blunt refusal. She had to admit it was slightly rude, but she didn't need to be nice to this guy. In a matter of fact, she didn't want to even talk to him, if she could help it.

Though put off, he was not deterred. "Don't you like sandwiches?" He waved the plate in front her face, as if trying to tempt her.

She glanced sharply at him, doing her best to convey her contempt in a single sentence. "They are edible, but _hardly_ a favourite. "

It was mean, but she liked seeing his downcast expression. Crestfallen, he set the plate down and started cutting up the steak before him.

Still, she was too optimistic in thinking he would shut up. "I'm sorry for being so presuming, then," he said politely and cheerfully, which just annoyed her all over again. "It's just that Anna loved them, so I assumed-"

"Anna?" True, it maddened her that he brought up her sister, but the statement came to her as a surprise. "Sandwiches?"

Hans' eyebrows shot up. "Oh, didn't you know? She loves them. Especially partial to chocolate and peanut butter."

Elsa could only glare at him, then at the plate of sandwiches. Clenching her gloved hands under table, she muttered to herself, _"Don't feel. Don't feel."_

"Pardon me but I didn't catch that," the redheaded boy cut in, still as courteous as ever.

She narrowed her eyes at him, haughtily remarking, "I wasn't addressing you, _Mr. Westergaard_." She felt a surge of smug satisfaction when she watched his handsome features contort into a sour expression.

At that moment, Pabbie entered the dining room. He was a genial old man with a wise look about him. He wasn't the only victor that District 12 ever had, but he was the only one still living, so he would mentor them both.

Elsa had met him once long ago, when her parents were still alive. As mayor of the town, her father was obliged to keep some contact with the victors.

One of the most memorable visits to him was one that still haunted her. Pabbie was a gifted herbalist and healer. It was his chosen 'talent' – the hobby that all victors had to define themselves by. On winter's night, her family had hastened to the victor's village, seek him out his help to cure the Anna's -

She felt her hands shaking, and she peered down at them. Traces of ice lined inside of her gloves. Taking a deep breath, she forced the memory out of her head, swinging herself back to present.

"What should we take from the Cornucopia when the game starts?" Hans asked the elderly man, while he helped filled the man's glass. Elsa shot him a disgusted look, but he didn't notice. Was he trying to suck-up to old man, perhaps so he would favour him, instead of herself? But Elsa was not particularly worried. Pabbie was a fair man.

"Nothing," he answered firmly. "At the most, grab what's close to you, but nothing more. It's too risky." He accepted the tray of bread that Hans passed to him, taking a bun, before passing it to Elsa. "Do not engage in any fights as much as possible. Flee from the horn as much as you can. The Careers always have the advantage there."

Hans leaned in closer. "What do you mean?"

Irritated with this snub-nose redhead, Elsa decided to interrupt. In a cool, steely voice, she said, "They're comparatively richer and better fed than us, and they've been training for the Games all their life. What do _you_ think it means?"

She could feel that Hans struggling _not_ to retort with some unsubtly insulting comeback, and took delight in that.

Then she stopped herself. Feeling the small coal-pin on her collar, she wondered what how Anna would act if she were here. She would be extremely uncomfortable, undoubtedly, but Elsa had few doubts she wouldn't be proud of her sister's rude behaviour.

Her good spirits suddenly turned to shame.

She was quiet for the rest of the meal, silently gobbling down the rich foods that surrounded them. It had been ages since she had eaten any of this. Being the Mayor's daughter of the poorest district in Panem didn't make them extremely wealthy, but apples had been plenty and meat had been common.

And chocolate! Chocolate came by the boxes, stashed in lace and ribbons. Prying eat one out carefully, she was careful to savour every morsel. Anna would have love this.

Well, this and _sandwiches_, apparently.

She cast a hasty glance at Hans, then turned so that he wouldn't notice. While his goody-to-shoes manner irritated her, he seemed sincerely cordial and kind. He had offered to pulled her chair back when she wanted to sit, though she refused, and had largely remained civil in their interactions.

_Maybe,_ for Anna's sake, she should try to be decent to him. That would be the appropriate response, if the train they were riding _wasn't_ taking them to an arena where they would have to kill each other in televised combat.

In that case, she would do the next best thing.

"I would like our trainings to be separate," she suddenly interjected, cutting into Pabbie and Han's exchange. The two men looked at her, astonished. Clearing her throat, she clarified, "I would prefer it if Hans and I took training separately. _If_ that is not too much trouble," she added, remembering to sound just as polite as the boy across her.

Pabbie's expression was unreadable, but Han's was clear. There was no anger nor resentment.

He was _hurt_.

She didn't quite expect that.

Rather stiffly, he rose to his feet. "I…" he stammered, then cleared his throat. Turning to Pabbie, he said respectfully as ever, "I'll wait outside. You can train her first."

Turning on his heel, he made his way to the door, shutting it quietly as he left the cabin.

Elsa heaved an inward sigh, feeling as if someone just dropped a stack of weights on her shoulders. Doors could easily be the symbol of her life; the way she shut out everyone who tried to reach out to her.

The rest of her 'training session' was in awkward silence, with only the clinking of utensils against cutlery.

* * *

><p><strong>SN: Hope you guys liked Flynn's intro! And Hans too!**

**Any guesses for who the other tributes? Don't expect yourself to name all though, coz' some of them are really obscure characters, and I've made some significant changes to some to fit the story (let's say…I genderbent someone, but this person is so insignificant I doubt y'all hate it). I'll be revealing who they all are in next chapter.**

**Oh, and any guesses who 'President Snow' is? I'm betting no one would see this coming…**

**HINT: I'm only using Disney and Dreamworks characters from 2010- movies (and maybe associated franchise…)**

**Up Next: **

'**...s**_**he didn't know if she should be afraid for him, or be afraid of him.'**_

'_**She had asked what did angels looked like... Here, he could let her see for herself.'**_

**A/N: Hi, another chapter already! Yes, because I've put my poor other fic on hold. Erm, yep.**

**Mailbox:**

**AliceInNeverland95: Glad you find it that way! Hope it gets better for you!**

**The Golden Sun: I love your compliments! So… yeah!**

**Elsa Arendelle: Thank you so much!**

**Guest: Glad you enjoyed it. To answer your question, Jack Frost does have powers. However, the one in this story is Jack Overland, who is very much mortal and powerless.****The question is, how long does Jack Overland **_**stay**_** as Jack Overland?**

**Awsomaniatica: Oh…hey there, Awsomaniatica…didn't think you'd read this fic, now that I've… I'm glad you like this story, heh heh… (*buries face in hands* Now just kill me.) **

**See y'all next week. If I'm still alive.**

**Review, Ask Questions, Critique.**


	5. Chapter 4: Building the Rep

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 4: Building the Rep

* * *

><p><strong>District 2 Allocated Train Cabin<strong>

Everyone called him useless. Herself included.

He was the town mess-up, the goof-off, the no-good. He was the one everyone picked on, even when they didn't have a reason to, because he was such an easy target.

That should make her feel better. If it wasn't that she'd be helping the town get rid of their biggest embarrassment, it'd be that she would help end his miserable existence. So _altruistic_, right?

Both flows of logic didn't comfort her at all. She idly stared at him across the table, not quite listening to what Gobber was saying. It wasn't that she really needed the hook-handed man's advice – she was the top student in Career Training Academy, for crying out loud. She wished she was in some training arena, wielding her double-bladed axe, hacking and splintering dummies. That would be so much more comfortable than this stuffy, opulently decorated dining cabin any day.

Since District 2 had so many victors, the choice of mentors had been left to themselves. She had expected him to choose Gobber, since his father and the old man were all chummy, but instead he had chosen Goethi, an elderly but wise victor who had lost the use of her voice during the Games. She wondered if it was because he didn't want a family friend as a mentor. At the same time though, she knew the old man wanted to tag along, keep an eye on the boy who was as good as his godson. So she took up the one-legged man herself.

"-if the mutts are the flyin' sort, then you'd best aim for them tails, aye! _Tails_, mind y'e, not the wings," Gobber was saying, before he ripped off another mouthful of chicken from his drumstick. Swallowing it whole, he carried on, "you'd see 'ere, you got the tails, them mutts won't be able to fly no more, eh? It'd be easier to slice 'em up after that, then you've got yourself a meal for a day or two. Well, till the meat goes bad-"

She couldn't stop herself from tuning out. She knew most of what he was telling her anyway. Her attentions, whether she liked it or not, were somehow completely taken up by the gangly boy hunched over the table, watching the elderly lady across him drawing something on a sheet of paper.

She wondered if he remembered.

Maybe he did, and maybe he regretted it. She hadn't exactly reciprocated in gratitude. In the short years that he had attended the Academy, she stood on sidelines as he got beaten up. Sure, she didn't contribute to the abuse, but she certainly didn't stop it. She had told herself once or twice that it'd help toughen him up, make him stronger; that's what hardship did to people. She of all people should know that.

Her parents had died early on, and though she had been taken in by the community home, it had been an unsaid truth that she had to fend for herself. So she had, taking on odd jobs of all kinds to earn every meal. Children weren't allowed in the stone quarries, but no one regulated the trees in the district. Scrapping up to buy her very first axe, she had begun chopping wood for a living. It hadn't been the worst job, and quite a number of people had been willing to pay for her cheap wood over the pricey coal imported from District 12.

Except in summer. Sure, she'd always been careful save a little more during spring, but that year had been bad. Grain prices had suddenly hiked up; a heat wave in District 9, and many other districts too. The only thing she had worried about was that when summer came, her pockets had been alarmingly empty.

The home didn't provide the food regularly, and she wasn't old enough to sign up for the tessarae. She had remembered the rainy night, trudging from street to street, with a stack of logs strapped to her back. Rain or no rain, summer nights had been too warm, and nobody had needed the wood.

When she had reached the mayor's manor, she had felt more hopeful. The 'Chief', as many affectionately dubbed the mayor, was a fearsome, burly man with a no-nonsense attitude, but it was not unknown that he was one of great compassion.

Smiling, she had rapped smartly at the door, brushing back her wet bangs in anticipation. When the door had swung open, however, her face fell.

It had been Spitelout Jorgenson. He was one of the top officials in the Peacekeeping force. He was also the mayor's brother-in-law and practically his second-in-command in the district. He was a harsh man, as she had heard his son, Snotlout, grumble often. And he was one who didn't believe in pity.

"What are you doing here?" he had demanded gruffly, his raspy voice making clear his lack of patience.

"I…" she had stuttered, her eyes not quite daring to meet his. He was a hulk of a man, and at that time, she was a lot of smaller.

The man had raised a brow at her challengingly. Her eyes had flickered back and forth between him and the hall behind him, hoping the mayor would suddenly appear around the corner.

Instead, she had caught a glimpse of a small, scuffled hair boy watching her from across the hall. He had made no move towards his uncle or her. She had no idea he was there, watching. Besides the obvious fact that this was his home, that is.

"…the mayor…I'd like to…" she had managed to get out. But the man had already raised his hand to halt her.

"The mayor doesn't have time for this, little girl," he snarled condescendingly, his brows creasing evermore. "He has district to run, as do I. "

With that, he slammed the door.

Sloshing through the muddy road, dejected, she had gone around to the back of the manor, dropping her stack of logs by the gate there. The rain had started pouring more heavily, but she couldn't be bothered to walk all the way back to the home.

She had always told herself that hardship made her stronger, it made her the fighter that she was. But at that moment, exhausted from walking; exhausted from hunger; exhausted from _fighting_ so hard to live, she had wished that her life wasn't this _hard_. She was half-certain she would die that very night.

She hadn't been sure when, but she had eventually fallen asleep next to her mini-log pile. The rain had been falling on her so long that she had come to ignore it. She had been, however, startled awake when she heard her a terrible yell from inside the manor. Her eyes had shot open. From where she was, she could tell that the conversation –if screaming could be called conversation- was taking place on the second floor, near enough the windows for her to hear.

"-But do we have enough _bread-making_ Careers?" she had heard a voice squeak behind the windows.

"I'm struggling to get this district through a food shortage, and you are baking!" Someone had bellowed from the inside – the mayor, she realized.

Some inaudible words had been exchanged, before she had heard the nasal-voice mutter, "Fine, fine, I won't do it again."

"And get rid of that! It's not fit for anyone here to eat." That had been the last she heard from the Mayor. She'd wondered if she should try knocking again, but considering his sour mood, she'd doubted she'd have any success.

The second floor window had flung open and she had suddenly become aware that she was directly in the sights of the brown-haired boy standing there. Both of them stared at each other for a while, before he moved away from the window. When he returned, he was carrying two loaves of bread, both burnt on the top. With a careless toss, the loaves had landed neatly on not the mud, or the bushes, but her log pile. Without another glance at her, he shut the windows.

She had never known if he intended to help her when he first saw her at the door; or only after he'd seen her in the rain; or that he had never intended to help her at all, but the two half-burned loaves kept her on her feet for the next four days.

On the fourth day, headhunters had found her hacking away at a tree. They had removed her from the home, before sponsoring her a lifetime education in the Career Training Academy.

She could never tell him, but she owed him her life.

And she'd probably have to kill him now.

Before they had left the district, the mayor had visited her. That was considered a great honor, since mayors didn't go around visiting every tribute, especially those that weren't family. She distinctly remembered the exchange.

"Sir," she had addressed him as such due to her nervousness, "I just want you to know that I will try." '_Try not to kill your son'_ were her unspoken words.

She had wondered if he had understood, but the deep sigh that he made showed that he did. All the he replied was "Do what you need to do."

She didn't quite get that.

The lights outside suddenly went dark as the train plunged in. The train cabin suddenly went silently, everyone dropping whatever he or she was doing.

They were here.

Bursting into brilliant white, some distance away above the above a massive lake stood the grand capital of Panem.

Astrid barely noticed she was holding her breath. Rising to her feet, she went over the window, staring at the gleaming silver city. They said District 2 was one of the wealthiest districts, but she had never seen anything like the Capitol. If she won the Games, this would be her home. Well, whenever she was invited, that is. You never came to the Capitol unless you were invited.

"You'll get over it," a small voice chimed in. He was standing by her side, watching the city roll from view. "I've been here a few times, and the 'wow' factor sort'a diminishes with each visit."

She didn't know when she started narrowing her brows at him, but she did, and it was ferocious enough that he backed off several inches -no- make that several feet.

"_Annndddd _I'll shut up now," he muttered, folding his arms as he deliberately turned from her direction, edging away a bit more.

The tracks kept rolling on, taking them into another tunnel.

She still pondered over the mayor's last words. His vague reply could only mean that he left the decision to her, at least, that what she could make of it. So what was her decision?

She knew without a doubt she wanted to win. It was the dream of every child in District 2. Well, most children, at least.

She wondered what he dreamed of. She had seen the strange crafts he had made before. She bet he'd rather be born in District 3 instead; where his geekiness would be embraced, his intelligence respected and every one of his creations upheld.

The cabin was lit up again when they rolled into the city. Overwhelmed by the brilliant colors that decorated both the streets and the people on it, Astrid stepped back, amazed and afraid at the same time.

Some citizens caught sight of the tribute train and rushed over, madly waving and cheering at them. Astrid pulled herself back further, unwilling to looking down at them. She knew the Capitol folk had a strange sense of fashion, but she didn't expect everyone of them to dressed like _that_.

However, the scrawny boy by her side didn't seem the slightest perturbed by them. Instead, he was waving too, grinning goofily back at them. The volume of the cheers only increased as he did.

Shooting him a questioning glance, he just shrugged. "One of them might be rich," he explained, before facing the window again.

Dumbstruck, she didn't know whether to be afraid for him, or afraid of him.

* * *

><p><strong>Remake Centre<strong>

"Don't fight, don't argue, just go with it. Bruiser and Killer may seem like lunatics, but they _really_ know what they are doing."

That had been Flynn's advice to her. He had been pretty traumatized after the whole 'throw-out-of-train' incident, but he shook off after a while and became the obliging mentor. Still, she dropped threats every now and then, just to make sure they stayed on the same page.

She had barely seen the male tribute, Greno, but she hadn't let it bother her. Instead, she had spent the hours on the train alternating between interrogating Flynn pointedly about the Games and exploring all the incredible machines in the room. She had sampled every type of food available, tried on every dress that they had provided in the cabins, and had used eight bottles of ink for sketching alone, so she started drawing on the tables instead. The capitol representative largely frowned upon that action, but somehow it had gotten her into Flynn's good books.

After that, he had helped her obtain thirteen canisters of paint - 'from my sources' was his only explanation. Between the two of them, the insides of every train cabin were decorated when it drew up to the station. Flynn's idea of painting was just throwing fistfuls of paint at the walls, and then cackling madly at it, but she took it seriously. Every dab, every brush, allowing her to pretend for a moment that she was an artist pouring out her soul, instead of an animal being dragged off for slaughter.

But there were no paints now, and Flynn wasn't here. She was lying down, half-naked, in the presence of two terrifying old men, who debating in an odd accent that she couldn't quite make out. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew she'd freak out if either one of them so much as lifted a pair of scissors. Flynn had promised that he would help get the approval for her hair somehow, but she wasn't sure if he had told these two guys that.

Pascal was sitting on the dressing table, camouflaging himself amongst the various bottle and paints. Flynn had made it clear that pets were no-no in the arena, but there weren't too many objections to it before that. Still, it would best if people didn't see Pascal.

They gave her a dress that fit her snugly. She noticed that it bore many similarities to the dress that she had made for herself. Somehow, it comforted her to see the warm pink and purple colors pressed against her form.

"Eyes shut," she heard Bruiser, -or was it Killer? – growl. Obediently, her lids snapped shut. She could feel them tracing up the lids, and pumping her cheeks with powder than made her sneeze. Still, when she dared a peek at herself, she was glad to note make-up slapped on her was minimal. Bruiser had rumbled to her that they were going for 'girlish-charm' look, since that was already her natural appearance. She wasn't sure if this would be advantageous in getting sponsors, but she remembered Flynn's advice and kept her thoughts to herself.

Finally, everything was done. They brought her before the mirrors so she could get a full view of herself.

She didn't appear particularly aggressive or dangerous, nor did she appear drop-dead sexy or even attractive. Her long, blonde hair braided with flowers, and the simple pink and purple dress made her look like nothing more than a simple village girl. She supposed this was Flynn's strategy; to make her seen harmless and naïve, when he knew how vicious she could really be. Okay, not exactly _vicious_, but he knew she was no walkover.

When the two designers turned away, she went over to the dressing table, where Pascal was examining the different shades of blue eye shadow, then experimenting with changing his skin color accordingly. He made a cheerful piping sound when he saw her, giving an approving nod at her new look.

"Thank you, Pascal," she said. Scooping him up in her palm, she set him into a pocket on the side of her dress. He curled himself in a little ball, crooning as he made himself comfortable.

"Good news, Goldie!" she heard Flynn's voice behind her, "I've just talked to the guys and got the clearance, so you get to keep _your hair on_-" he broke off when he caught sight of her, jaw-dropped.

She grinned at him, amused at his response. Doing a little twirl so that he could see the full braid, she asked, "What do you think?"

He spent a moment or two staring at her. In a rather wheezy voice, he stuttered, "Wow…you…really…" Clearing his throat, he started again, his voice still husky, "You look great."

"You really think so?" she inquired, a tinge anxious, gesturing down at herself. "I still think I come off as the 'immature, clumsy' type-"

"C'mon, don't you trust the taste of the Capitol's most of fashionable man?" He smirked, strutting about, taking large strides and making stuck-up expressions. She couldn't help bursting into giggles.

Eventually, she had found out from him, and from the other victors on the train, that 'Flynn Rider' was practically a brand name in the Capitol. He was a true campaigner for male fashion and cosmetics here, though he claimed that he needed neither to show-off his already 'amazing good looks'. He was extremely popular amongst the richer female population here, tight with the upper social circles in the Capitol and he had met everyone worth meeting in the Panem already. And he had only been a victor for _six _years.

Flynn could be an incredibly influential mentor, when he _bothered_ mentoring.

"Well, your chariot awaits, princess," he told her, holding out an arm that she gladly took.

Scanning the room with wide eyes, she asked, "Where?"

He raised a brow at her. "Err, downstairs?"

"Oh, right," she nodded, blushing slightly. "I knew that."

"Yeah, you did," he agreed, not hiding the mockery in his voice, leading her to the glass elevator. In a low voice, he whispered to her, "Got the frog?"

"_Chameleon_," she corrected with a frown. Pascal gave a assertive squeak from the pocket, and she patted the pocket affectionately.

"Whatever," Flynn muttered, looking considerably disturbed as he eyed that pocket. Straightening his green vest, he called to the two stylists, "See you guys down." They only grunted in response.

Stepping in the lift with her, the doors shut behind them, and the elevator descended.

Rapunzel let go of his arm at that point, just so she could press her nose against the elevator glass. Evening was falling. The sunset splashed red and orange across the sky, with only the boldest streaks falling on the silver towers. The bright lights that sparkled all over the city reminded her of the starry night sky, only more brilliant and vivid. She wished she could get her hands on some paper right now, and watercolors would be lovely, so she could capture this magnificent view.

She sighed, scooping a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "It's really beautiful. I'd have love to come here," –she scrunched up her face- "under different circumstances."

"I felt that too. The first time."

She spun towards him, blinking. He seemed distant, as if recalling something long ago, and something quite unpleasant. He probably didn't know, but the long hours together in the train had taught her quite him. She observed that in between the flippant and flirter, he would occasionally slip into a dark sort of moodiness, with unspoken horror written over his face.

"Were you afraid?" She asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Jolting back to reality, he flipped back to frivolous Flynn again. "Whoa, Blondie! Sorry, I don't do back stories."

She heaved an inward sigh. And here she thought they were actually having a moment.

"However," he continued, "I am becoming _increasingly_ interested in yours. What's with the hair?" He gestured up the heavy braid that hung from her back.

Imitating his mannerism, she drawled, "Nope, 'I don't do back stories'. But," She gave him a grin, shining her bright green eyes temptingly at him, "I can compromise at a _trade_."

He seemed like he was thinking of some suitable rejoinder, but gave up with a fold of him arms. "I hate you."

Maybe a few hours ago, she would've taken him seriously. But now, she just brushed it off. "Nah, you don't. You're just saying that to make yourself feel better."

He rolled his eyes, muttering to himself.

She wasn't sure when they linked arms again, but she wasn't the one who initiated it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chariots Waiting Area<strong>

"Do I have to?"

"_Yes!_"

Jack groaned, raising his arms to the gray ceiling, demanding why he was put in such a miserable position.

His mentor was completely unsympathetic. "C'mere, mate," the tattooed man hissed at him, grabbing him by the shoulder, dragging him past the District 9 chariot. "See that guy over there?"

Jack followed his mentor's finger, which was to a young man in his early twenties. He was helping up the tribute from District 8 – the girl with the long hair – up the chariot. He was dressed fashionably, rather quite like the Capitol people, but not quite as ridiculously as them.

"Now that bloke over there," Bunnymund hissed to the brown-haired boy on his right. "He was fifteen when he won – two years younger than you, mind. You know how he won?"

Jack examined the man carefully. He was tall, but not fantastically so. His shifty eyes suggested that he was remarkably aware of his surroundings, and his lean form probably had more muscle than outward appearance hinted. He was probably very fast on his feet, good with his hands and really intelligent.

Jack answered promptly, "He pretended to be a weakling, then come the games" - he made a 'whooshing' sound effect' – "revealed a regular 'demon in Paradise'."

"No, ya gumby!" His mentor cried in frustration. "He won by being a ladies' man! The good looks won him sponsors, you fool!" He started making noises that sounded like something in between screaming and tearing out his own throat.

Jack decided to give him some space, taking the moment to inspect the other tributes. The only ones who looked really good were District 1. They were laced in diamond and silver jewellery, both preening like marble statues of perfection. District 2 wasn't too badly off; well, the female tribute came off as the sexy _femme fatale,_ with her spiked skirt and shoulder guards, but the scrawny boy by her side appeared very uncomfortable in his fur coat and horned helmet. It may be partly due to the fact his female counterpart was glaring daggers at him.

The rest of the districts were dressed in ridiculous costumes according to their district main industry. District 3 were draped in tangles of wire – some reference to their technological home; District 4 were pretty much just in the underwear and nets – _too cliché_, he thought to himself; District 5 were dressed like lightning bolts - literally. The male tribute seemed to fit his costume well enough, with his spike blonde matching the yellow suit. On the other hand, the female counterpart's own red shock of hair clashed horribly, and the dark glare she wore told Jack that she knew that.

When he turned around to see the District behind him, that when it seemed like everything stopped for a moment.

When their father had passed away, people had told Emma that he had gone to join the angels. Since then, she had been asking what angels looked like. He had described them the way everyone else did; dressed in robes of white, with feathered wings and a golden halo on their brow.

But here, he could let her see for herself.

Okay, maybe the dress was blue, and the girl didn't have a halo, but Jack didn't care.

The shimmering blue dress matched her brilliant azure eyes. The white train attached to her sleeves flowed behind her like a ring of clouds beneath her feet. The silver blonde hair in a French plait hung by her head, with her bangs wild whipped back.

That night, Jack understood what the word 'mesmerized' meant.

He suddenly found himself picked up by the collared, dangerously closed to his gray-haired mentor's scowl. "Lem'me ask ya, mate," Bunnymund growled menacingly, "do you want to die?"

Jack's eyes darted back to the 'angel'. From the corner of his eyes, he noted how graceful she was as she ascended the chariot, keeping her chin up high as she calmly surveyed the others. She was noticeably nervous, however, considering how often she wrung her hands.

"Hey!" His mentor shook him again.

Jack's attentions returned to the pressing present. "Yes, yes, I want to win, okay? Now can you put me down?"

"Then you listen close!" The man barked, but he did drop Jack. "You will smile; you will wave; you will use those good looks! You will flirt; you will blow kisses; you will do get girls to swoon at the sight of you. Do I make myself clear?"

Jack sighed, straightening out the blue coat that was his costume. Girls fawning over him? Great, like high school, but worst.

"I said, do I make myself clear?"

Jack groaned again, rolling his eyes. Reluctantly, he mumbled, "Yeah…"

"Good, now." Bunnymund grabbed his elbow and forcefully hauled him back to the District 10, kicking him up the steps and placing him next to his female counterpart.

Shoving a staff in his hands, his last words were, "I'll be watching you."

Jack grumbled under his breath as he watched the man hop off the chariot, away from the waiting area.

"He means well, you know," a charming, light voice piped in.

He turned to see a girl dressed in green feathers, complete with glass-like wings attached to his back. It was only thanks to her exposed face that he recognized her at all.

"Toothiana?"

"Just Tooth would do." She smiled, displaying her impeccably white teeth. "Hi, Jack. Been some time, since elementary school."

"Yeah," Jack grinned back, brushing his finger in his brown hair, messing up with the hairspray again. Then he stopped. "Wait, we're talking?"

"_Yes…_" she said, not understanding.

"You're okay with that?"

She still didn't get it. "_Yes…_"

"Cool, okay," he replied, tucking his hand into the hoodie pockets.

"You're looking real casual," Tooth commented, eyeing his blue sweatshirt and brown three-quarters.

"Um..." He spun the hooked the staff in his hand. "This is a shepherd's crook, I think, so I'm … a shepherd?"

"Possibly, but the hoodie?" She pointed out.

Jack raised his hands. "Don't look at me. I just wear the clothes. Anyway, you're just like some princess fairy!" He gestured at her attire.

She chortled, her laughter like the jingle of bells. He joined in, snickering, and they both stood there awhile, cackling their heads off while the tributes in other chariots glared at them. Jack didn't care though. If they were going to die in four days, they might as well make some memories of fun.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**Spitelout – Snotlout's father and Stoic second-in-command, make appearances in both httyds, but his name is only mentioned briefly in httyd2. Appearsa lot more in the TV series. **

**Bruiser and Killer – "Bruiser knits, Killer sews, Fang does little puppet shows…" **

**Greno – The guy who called the guards to Snuggly Duckling. I still suspect he's named after Bryan Greno (a director of Tangled)**

**Some Ages (for the curious):**

**Flynn – 21 (C'mon, the artists said he's 8 years older than Rapunzel. I've **_**actually**_** cut the gap)**

**Toothiana – 17 **

**Astrid - 14**

**Hans – 17 (mentioned in chapter 2)**

**I think I'll be mean and not reveal all tribute identities till next update. More suited then anyways, since you'll get to actually see some of these characters in motion first. **

**I thought I'd be doing an Elsa POV this round, but apparently not. Hope you've enjoyed Astrid' backstory, and Rapunzel's and Jack's POVs!**

**Up Next: **

"…**first chariot on my count, on my count…"**

"**Why don't I have gloves?"**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Update again! **

**I've just watched Big Hero 6. It was pretty good; had really intense moments, and really heart-warming moments. Amazing animation, but kind too fast paced for me to absorb all. Will watch in slow-mo come DVD. Besides that, really good. And the marvel references!**

**Mailbox: **

**electricalangel12: Your predictions are very interesting…I'm afraid I can't say anything about them – just in case of spoilers. Yeah…Elsa was being pretty mean to Hans, but I hope that throughout the story I'll be able to justify her rather complicated relationship with Hans, especially in the 'sister's boyfriend' vs 'competitor' department. I'm hoping also develop Hans' character as thoroughly as possible, may even a POV for him someday. I'll re-look at the prologue again tosee if there's a way I can present it better. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Awsomaniatica: Glad you liked it. Hope you've enjoyed Jack's part. A Hiccup POV is likely to turn up in either the next or next next chapter (yay English). I have to balance out by bringing Merida soon too though. I can tell you I'm unlikely to bring in Shrek anytime soon, since I'm not familiar with its franchise, but keep guessing on the tributes. Hint: I didn't mention that the twins here are blonde…**

**See y'all soon!**


	6. Chapter 5: Chariots of Ice

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 5: Chariots of Ice

* * *

><p><strong>Game Centre<strong>

He liked it dark.

To some, this would be odd. But the Gamemakers have not only gotten used to it; they've respected it and embraced it. Henceforth, everything in the Game Centre was designed black; black walls, black desks, black doors. The only colours were the white lights, ribbed into the desks and into the ceiling, and the holographic computers were lit up into a cyan blue.

These lights were only for the other Gamemakers, of course. He didn't need it.

He had been sitting long, in silence and in darkness. His elbows resting on his black desk, his back arched forward and his chin resting on the back of his bony fingers. It would look like he was sleeping, except that those who knew the Head Gamemaker would know he never slept.

He pondered over the tributes. It was an extraordinary mix this year; already, there were two volunteers; a pretty boy; a few wiry muscles and the usual dead meats. Many of them appeared intelligent, which he appreciated much more than all brawn-no-brains variety. They always made the games more interesting.

Of course, it was troubling that there were two mayors' children here, especially the one from District 5. She seemed like a fighter, but if she didn't come home, the current situation in the power-producing district would probably worsen, and the President would have his head. He grimaced at thought, but more in annoyance than fear.

He was also intrigued with the blonde with long hair. Rider had been around to inquire about it earlier, and permission had been granted after much flattery. But besides that, the Head Gamemaker couldn't help feel that he knew that girl from elsewhere. He made a mental note to check up on that.

There were also the matter of preparing for that boy. What was his name-

A knock on his door broke his train of thought. After an ungracious snarl, he answered in his chilling cool voice, "Enter."

A small figure of gamemaker appeared at the door cracks. "S…sir," he stuttered nervously. The Head Gamemaker was a rather terrifying figure, after all over the thirty years of his service to the Capitol, the man had built quite a reputation of his eccentric severity.

"What is it, you lump head?" he hissed, annoyed at having his peace disturbed with, but most of all because he hated stuttering fools.

"The C…ceremony, sir," the gamemaker stammered, quivering in his boots. "It's starting." He was probably wishing he didn't have the misfortune of dealing with the ominously dark man.

The Head Gamemaker's yellow eyes shot open, gleaming with wicked delight. "Finally," he murmured, a malicious grin twisted onto this pale gray face. He pushed back his chair, drawing himself to his full height, remarking to himself, "Time to have a little _fun_."

Pushing past the shaking Gamemaker, he made himself to the central game control. Entering the circular dome, he descended the steps, down to its centre. Upon seeing him, the gamemakers immediately ceased whatever they were doing, rising to greet him.

With a wave of his hand, he got them to seat themselves. Surveying the members of the control panel, he addressed them, "Gentlemen, ladies, the 74th Hunger Games begin in minutes. As usual, I expect every one of you to devote yourself complete into giving Panem an entertaining show and give our little Capitol folks something talk about for the next week or so" – some nervous tittering there - "but above all, do not forget the central mission of these Games." He paused for dramatic emphasis, as if his subordinates dared not to pay attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he chose a Gamemaker sitting near the front. "You!"

"Yes, sir!" The Gamemaker answered quickly, though her eyes betrayed her alarm.

Ominously, he questioned her, "What is the mission?"

She blinked, then scurried for an answer. "To do whatever the President says, sir?"

The Head Gamemaker rolled his eyes. "_Minions_. Always think too small," the man lamented, rubbing his temple emphatically. To the others in the Game Centre, he demanded, "Anyone else?"

The hall was decidedly silent.

The Head Gamemaker groaned with such ferocity that some of the Gamemakers were tempted to cow under their onyx desks. Finally, he bellowed, "_Fear_, you dolts! That's our central mission." Seeing that the Gamemakers only stared blankly back at him, he grudgingly dropped subject. Time was running short, anyhow, and he couldn't expect these idiots to understand the sophistication behind their work. "Get to work."

Immediately, the Gamemakers thawed and swung back into action. Several blue holographic screens appeared, surrounding him. His exasperated expression only gave way to the faint amusement that touched his lips as he watched the excited Capitol crowds in one screen, and the nervous tribute in the chariots in another.

"The first chariot on my count, gentlemen." He told them, unable to hide his glee. He loved his job. After all, there was nothing he loved more than fear, and what were the Hunger Games _but fear_?

"15…14…13…"

* * *

><p><strong>Chariot Waiting Area<strong>

She was stunning. She was elegant. She was gorgeous.

She didn't have gloves.

"Why can't I have gloves?" She had inquired anxiously of her stylist, Olaf. He had been a surprisingly likeable person, despite his make-up which made him look almost completely white; hair and skin included. She would have preferred to dislike him completely, heap all her resentment to the Capitol on him, but he was too childlike, too innocuous for her to blame him for what his city was going to do her. She'd rather doubted he completely understood the implications of the games, given how naïve he seemed.

"Because gloves were would ruin the effect of the dress, Elsa," he had explained, almost like a doctor prescribing medication to an unwilling patient. "You have to look bold! And courageous! Unafraid of the cold!"

"Cold?" Elsa had been taken aback. _He couldn't know, could he? _They had just met that day!

"-Which you are, by the way," Olaf continued rambling good-humoredly. "It was really brave of you to take your sister's place. It's like true sisterly _love_." He had sighed happily, then had made a cheerful gurgle when he braid up her hair. "So…no gloves!"

She regretted that she hadn't pushed her case harder – Olaf had been too nice already – because she could swear that her hands were turning blue that moment. Taking deep breaths, she shoved aside her fear of the crowds; of the games. _"Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel-"_

"Nice dress. The ice fits you."

She jumped. It was Hans, standing by her left in the chariot.

She whipped around, anxious. "I…Ice?" She stared down at herself. Had she frozen her dress by accidentally? Then she realized he must have been talking about the recurring snowflake theme that her dress was designed with.

"Thank you," she answered unsurely. She did feel horrible about what happened in the train, but that was the only thing she could do - for Anna. It was best if she and Hans never interacted, ensuring that they formed no ties. It would be easier for Anna to bear. Right?

Or just easier for _her_, when she broke her sister's heart?

She wasn't sure why she was so certain she'd have to be the one to kill him.

She glanced at his attire. He wore a white overcoat over his yellow tunic, with white pants and knee-high black boots. She noticed that he had a spray of snow flake pattern over his coat too, though not as obviously as her train.

And he had _gloves_.

"You look good, too," she found her saying, "I'm not completely sure either of our clothes has to do with coal mining though." _So much for no interaction._

"We are dressed in winter-themed attire," Hans mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder…" Then suddenly, he let out a snort of laughter. "Of course! But that is really _lame_-"

"What is it?" She asked, quite surprised by his outburst. She was pretty amazed with herself by now, that she hadn't frozen the entire chariot. Yet.

"Don't you get it?" Hans gasped, still chortling. He then explained, "Our district is specializes in C-O-A-L. We dressed like in ice-themed costume. And what's ice and winter? C-O-L-D."

Elsa's eyes widened. "Coal and cold…" she murmured. "Wow. That _is_ terribly lame."

"I know, right?" Hans chortled. It was pretty infectious, and Elsa found herself giggling, though she coughed it away quickly.

The blast of the Panem anthem through the room quieted them. The opening ceremony had begun.

The massive doors before them swing open, the chariots start rolling down the streets, starting with District 1's chariots. Elsa shut her eyes, repeating to herself a few more times. _'Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel.'_

Feeling a sense of peace settling over her, her lids flit open, hardened and cold. The blue in hands fade away, and she unclasp them. _'Put on a show.'_

Just as the District 11's chariots started to pull away, Olaf ran up to their chariot, saying something to Hans, since he was the nearer of the two, before retreating back.

"What did he say?" Elsa asked, but before she got an answer, the chariot jolted forward, wheeling them into the Streets of the Capitol.

It was as if she had entered another universe. The throngs that filled the stands fused into a colorful , and thunderous cheers exploded in her head. Dizzily, she tried to focus on the long stretch of road ahead, but she couldn't. She felt sick, watching all these flamboyantly dressed creatures screaming at her. Her knees buckling, she quickly grabbed onto the rail lining the chariot. That was her biggest mistake.

Without warning, the railings of the chariots suddenly sparkled with new frost, and the entire chariots transformed into from its original black color into blue crystal that matched her dress. So thick was ice formation that even as their chariots rolled on, a trail of ice followed behind them, marking a line of shimmering white-blue along the streets of the Capitol.

The sinking feeling Elsa had felt turned into one of absolutely horror. She glanced around her subtly, as not to seem anxious or fearful. Her muscles tensed and holding her breath, she waited for the crowds to respond.

The crowds didn't scream. Or jeer.

Instead, they jumped to their feet, roaring, clapping, waving. Some stuck up their fists in the air, called out 'twelve' over and over. A phrase seemed to be passed around, and more and more joined in the chant.

"Snow Queen! Snow Queen!"

Astounded, Elsa could only gawk at them. One of the passing banner-like screens gave her a glimpse of herself, and she could barely believe it.

Against the dazzling refractions and reflections of the light in the ice-coated chariot, the crystal blue dress that garbed her glistened and glittered. Her usually pale face glowed like the break of dawn. Here she stood, like the light of day, as radiant as the rising sun and as deadly as a snowstorm. She was the Queen tonight, and everything about her screamed that fact.

"I guess that's the special effects he was talking about," she heard Hans mutter to her softly. She noted that he was waving and smiling to the adoring masses, and copied him.

"What special effects?" She asked under her breath, though she didn't face him.

"Olaf. He mentioned he did something to your costume. I never knew clothes could do that though," was Hans' reply. "It's pretty impressive, hey?"

"Yes, it is," Elsa answered, secretly sighing in relief. So that what everyone thought what the ice and snow were; nothing more than a really cool special effect. Nobody suspected the truth yet, which was good. She still didn't know how the Capitol would react if they knew about her 'abilities'. What bugged her now was '_how did Olaf know?' _And if he knew, why didn't he give her gloves, or at least tell her what to do once the chariots were out?

The question plagued her, but she forced herself to stay in the present, keeping her hands on the chariot railing as much as possible, only daring a wave every now and then. There was still a lot of road to cover with they reached the city circle, and she didn't want to accidentally freeze up a bunch of spectators.

She must have been still shivering, because Hans asked her, "Cold? We're surrounded by ice after all."

She nodded, unwilling to tell him exactly what was on her mind. She did note the irony in his question, though.

She did jump slightly when she felt his gloved hand over her own on the railing. "Whoa, you're like ice."

She snatched her hand away, shooting him a cross glare. This was him trying to get close to her, _again_. She wished he would stop; at least it would make her hate herself less, if nothing else.

He was ready her objections this time though. "Pabbie said we should look like a team."

At that, she hesitated. This boy could be lying for she knew, but there wasn't a reason why he should be.

"For Anna's sake, please."

That nearly stopped her heart. The opening ceremony was televised all over Panem, and it was compulsory for all Districts to watch. Right now, Anna was probably sitting in front of the television, her hair in her mouth, her eyes glued to the screen.

_For Anna's sake._ She didn't resist when he took her hand again.

"You're really cold," he commented again, as his gloved fingers twined with hers.

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. She supposed that freezing off his arm didn't seem that bad. "It's the suit," she lied mildly.

When Hans raised their clasped hands up in the air, the crowds went wild. Well, _wilder,_ since their unholy enthusiasm was already approaching barbaric. Everyone seemed to love the image of their team spirit - not that it existed. But Elsa didn't oppose it. She allowed herself to flash smiles in every direction. Once, in a moment of boldness, she allowed herself to blow a kiss. She couldn't stop the snowflakes that came after, but the crowd loved it. No one shrieks of fear, no one shouts of 'monster'.

Eventually they drew up to the city circle, where the other chariots had already halted. Hans lowered their arms, but he didn't release her hand. Privately, she was glad that he didn't. She could barely stand as it was, and he was a steady as a mast. She also liked the warm sensation of his palm against her cold ones. It calmed her down, and she noticed that her left hand hadn't frozen anything since he held it.

Right before them stood the President's mansion, a chillingly grand building, and an elderly man dressed in a dark purple suit made his way to the podium. He beamed benignly over the tributes, and over the Capitol. The Panem anthem rumbled to an end, and the crowds' cheers died in eager anticipation to hear their leader speak. Elsa found herself clutching her counterpart's hand more fiercely. Here stood the figure of Capitol's power, terror and cruelty; President Lotso.

His manner was genial, like a grandfather greeting his children. "Welcome, Tributes, welcome, to the 74th Annual Hunger Games." His smile seemed kind, but it only spent shivers down Elsa's spine.

"We, at the capitol, salute you " he spoke, his voice strong and resonant, "for your courage and for your _sacrifice_."

She and Hans exchanged glances. Somehow she felt that, for once, they had some common ground that didn't involved her sister. Behind them, the ignorant crowds of the Capitol cheered.

"To each one of you, Happy Hunger Games," he wished, gazing down to chariots below, still with a haunting smile – _smirk_, Elsa felt. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

The crowds roared again, and the anthem was again blasted over the streets. The chariots began rolling away. Elsa noted that some of the old ice trail had melted away, but began to grow back when the District 12 chariots rolled over them. When that happened, the throngs screamed again. From the hanging screens above them, she was glad to see that she and Hans were still getting more airtime than the other tributes. That was good for their image.

_Their_…when had she started including him in her thoughts?

Hans had released her hand at this point, which, she had to admit, disappointed her slightly. However, she noted he was removing his white gloves. These he handed to her. "Here."

She stared down at the gloves, not understanding.

"Take them, please." He nodded at the gloves, then back at her. "You're _freezing_."

She couldn't tell him how accurate that statement was, but she was more than happy to accept the gloves, slipping them over her tingling palms.

As they returned to back to bottom floor of the Remake Centre, Elsa noticed that many tributes were giving them dark looks. She noted that District 1's and 2's female tributes especially were giving her rather poisonous glares.

"You guys were fabulous!" Olaf cried as he met them, doing a little dance as he did. Hans was the first to jump off the chariots, before helping Elsa get out, since her cape was giving her problem. If this happened this morning, she would have refused his aid pointedly, but now she accepted it gladly.

When she dropped to Olaf's side, she whispered to him, "Um, Olaf?"

"Yeah?" the little man answered eagerly.

"You told Hans about the 'special effects', right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Did you tell the public that too?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Why did you tell him – and them – that?"

"Oh, Pabbie told me to," he told her lightly. Elsa raised her head to her elderly mentor, who was watching some distance away. He gave her faint a nod.

It dawned on her. So it was _Pabbie_ who knew. That made sense, considering he was there when Anna…but why hadn't he…then would he tell…

"Elsa," she heard a voice call to behind her. It was Hans. "That braid," he pointed it her platinum-blonde French plait, "it's the same as what you wore to the reaping, isn't it?"

She nodded. It was just this morning, but reaping seemed years away. "Anna did it for me."

The mention of her sister brought a grin to his face. "Well, you should keep it. It looks good on you."

"Thank you." She replied. With good-humor, she commented, "The sideburns work for you too. You should consider growing a beard."

He laughed - a genuine laugh that reached his eyes. It was difficult to hate Hans. He was too much of a gentlemen; too much of a sweetheart.

For, perhaps, the first time in forever, Elsa could see through her sister's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>District 5 Living Quarters<strong>

Merida was so happy when she finally burst out of the elevator. After holding herself together for the last two hours, she couldn't be more relieved to tear her body out of the ghastly yellow contraption they had called a costume.

Shouting and shrieking, she danced madly in her underclothes, much to the disapproval of the Capitol escort. Casting her 'costume' into the nearby fireplace, she sped off to explore the area.

The living quarters were within the Training Centre itself, and each districts' tributes had an entire level to themselves. Merida doubted Wee Dingwall was going to make full use of the premises, so that meant she had much of the floor to herself.

She went through the lounges, the libraries, the bedrooms and even the billiard rooms - she wondered which tributes actually used those. She fiddled with millions of controls available in each room, changing the wallpapers and the floor textures everywhere she went. The bathroom were the most fun; she didn't know who could add so many different scents, or that bubbles could come in various 'fluff levels'. Her mother probably adored this most of visiting the Capitol.

She drew her hand away from the bath control panel. This was actually the first time she was at the Capitol. Her mother had expected to bring her when she was seventeen, during the Quarter Quell. Sometimes mayors were invited to the Quarter Quells, after all. Here, she would have been a representative of District 5, as a picture of true elegance, light wit and daintiness that the Capitol appreciated. She would probably helped her mother in negotiating around the minister, sitting through tight and tense dialogues with other mayors, or engaging frivolous and meaningless chatter with the wealthiest in the Capitol. That could have very well been her life.

And it would probably have killed her.

She laughed bitterly at the irony. Her mother had crafted a destiny for her to secure her position amongst the finest in the Capitol –assuming that she was never reaped – that would certainly have guaranteed her a suffocating existence. So, to change her fate, she chose a deviant path, and now she and twenty-three children were on their way to a fight to the death.

She shook her head firmly. No, when she chose this path, she chose it only because she would win. Her head hurt. Maybe she was tired from the parade. Or maybe from the lying to herself – _urgh_, there it was again!

She never had found herself with such a lack of confidence. She wished she had her bow and arrows, with her back against a stately oak, breathing in the fresh autumn breeze-

That's it! Some air is what she needed to get her head straight.

Picking up speed again, she dashed to her room first, just to throw on some decent clothes. With that done, she hustled through the rooms, passing by the dining room. The crazy old witch was there, chatting merrily with her crow. Wee Dingwall was leaning back against a plush chair, unaware that he was drooling on his plate. The stylists and the capitol escort were so engaged in conversation that they didn't notice that she had swiped an entire meat pie from the table. Grabbing a spoon and shoving it in her pocket, she made her way to the elevator before anyone could stop her.

When the doors closed, she jabbed the button for the roof. She had overheard about it from the stylist – it was an open air garden of sorts and free-access to everyone in the building. Merida would have been glad if they had trees, but she mainly focused on the 'open air' part.

Finally, she arrived at the garden. It looked like the small flower gardens that her mother liked growing, with plotted plants and assorted shrubbery, but no trees. On the bright side, it had quite a remarkable view of the glowing Capitol buildings, and it was very windy.

Merida went right to the parapet. Climbing up and onto it, she stood herself up, surveying the city. She could see the large silvery President Palace from here, as well as the streets that they had paraded on. Well, where _others_ had paraded on, and she and Wee Dingwall had embarrassed themselves on.

She spread her arms out, allow herself to take in deep gulps of the cold fresh air. Feeling the wind whipping through her red mane and flipping against her coat, she could almost imagine herself flying.

"Hey! Are you committing _suicide_?"

Startled, Merida fortunately caught herself in time when the shock had almost knocked her over the wall. The alarm turned to irritation when she peered over shoulder, where a small girl, with dirty black hair tied in a single ponytail, was leaning against the parapet walls. Her chins rested on her arms and her large brown eyes were watching Merida mockingly.

"Don't do that!" The redhead snapped at her, jumping back on the steady ground. "I'm almost died!"

"But _weren't_ you trying to die?" The girl prodded, pointing at her, then making a twirling gesture off the parapet

Merida was aghast. "I _wasn't_ trying to committing suicide!" she insisted.

The girl just snorted doubtfully, then picked up a stone from one of the garden decorations. Shrugging, she remarked drily, "Well, it wouldn't have worked anyway."

She cast the stone out over the wall, but she didn't redraw her hand. A second later, there was a crackle electricity, and to Merida's surprise, the stone flew back up in the girl's hand.

"Neat, isn't it?" The girl grinned toothily at her. She tossed the stone at the girl by her side.

Catching it deftly, Merida glanced at it, then back over the parapet. "But how?"

"Force fields," the girl replied. "Make's sure we don't die prematurely. Gotta give those numbskulls a show to goggle at." She was small, but certainly opinionated, Merida noticed.

She tried to put together where she recognized this lass from, then the recap of the reaping flashed in her mind. "You're the kid from District 11, right?"

"Yep," the girl confirmed, absent-mindedly plucking a flower from a shrub, then wringing it. "And you're girl from District 5 that dressed up like a banana."

Merida decided not to answer that.

"Hey, why's your hair so freakishly _fizzy_?" The girl cut in, pointing at Merida's huge clump. "It's like this big red cloud of springs dangling from your head."

Merida had to take offence at that, retorting, "Well, why's yours so freakishly – black? And dirty!" She couldn't think of a good comeback. Irritated, she kicked the muttered, "_Jings Crivens, help ma boab_."

The girl scrunched up her face, peering at her face. "What on Earth does that even mean?"

"What?"

"The Jingle Craven whatever-"

"_Jings, Crivens, help ma boab_," Merida repeated. That question stumped her. "Erm, well, actually, um-"

"Hold up, frizzle-brains." The girl interrupted, narrowing her brows, "if you don't know what it means, then why are you still using it?

"Well, I-"

"It could be like some really offensive phrase," the girl rattled on, throwing away the dead plant. "Or," her voice dropped several decibels, "it could be a magic curse that turns your victims into zombie-werewolf thingamabob…"

Merida snatched it immediately. "Ah! So you're a zombie-werewolf" –she waved her hand carelessly at her – "thingamabob now, eh?"

The little girl only smirked back, with a creepy smile spread across her face. Pretending to glance furtively around, she whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but my strategy is to eat everyone's brains in the arena." She made an exaggerated gobbling-and-crunching action.

"_Right_…" Merida nodded her, slow and definitely disbelieving. This was a strange lass.

"Knew I could trust you!" The girl grinned toothily, raising a fist at Merida. The redhead eyed the fist in suspicion, then scanned the girl's face for hints of mischief.

The girl's cheer turned to annoyance. "You know what a fist-bump is, right?"

Insulted, Merida declared indignantly, "_Of course_ I know what's a fist-bump is!"

"Great! Now meet the gap," the girl prattled on, waggling her fist at Merida's face. C'mon, don't leave me hangin'."

Reluctantly, Merida clenched her own fist, then placed it against the smaller girl's own, then dropped her arm swiftly. "Done," she almost spat.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" That girl could sound remarkably condescending for someone so small. "Well," she fit her little hands back into her sweatshirt pockets. "See ya tomorrow, _frizzles_!"

With a little salute, she disappeared from the gardens.

Merida only leaned back against the parapet, with the wind flying through her red coils, imagining the horrors to be, should this little imp ever meet the devils of her brothers.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

****Hope you liked Pitch's Intro (please tell me if you missed it. That would mean my writing needs work). And Vanellope's (And if you missed this, I really really suck). And did _anyone_ see 'President Lotso' coming? (In case y'all don't remember, Lotso from _Toy Story 3_?) Your thoughts would be appreciated.****

**And once again, I'll be mean and not reveal the identities of the other tributes! But I've introduced another one this chapter, so here's the scoreboard of what we (or rather, y'all) know for sure:**

**Distict 2: M: Hiccup F: Astrid**

**District 5: M: Wee Dingwall F:Merida**

**District 8: M: Greno (in chapter 4) F: Rapunzel**

**District 10: M: Jack Overland F: Toothiana**

**District 11: M: (Pretty obvious by now) F: Vanellope**

**District 12: M: Hans F: Elsa**

**That leaves a lot more room for guessing! Remember, post and including 2010 Dreamwork and Disney films.**

**Up Next: Training Time! (No quotes this time)**

**A/N: Another Early Update! I'm starting work tomorrow, so from this chapter on the updates will come slower. However, I notice I seem to have a kind of 'review threshold'. Like a certain number of reviews are reached, my inclination to update increases…**

**Mailbox:**

**Morgan01: Glad you enjoyed it!**

**electricangel12: I'm glad you liked reading Astrid's backstory as much as I enjoyed writing it. From the Defenders of Berk series, it was mention she had a favourite uncle, but no mention of parents' still, so yeah… I really think she lost her parents in canon too. Your predictions for District 3 are very close…**

**DrunkenSage: Awww! Thanks! I don't think my writing's that great, but I do try to keep it as readable as possible. I would love to have more followers though. It's great to be able to share stories. Jack's eye colour is gonna stay brown for a lonnngggg time. His hair will experience dirt, soot and much more, so …I guess not.**

**Guest (Nov 14): I'm glad that this Hunger Games AU is to your liking. I read quite a few of them, and if there aren't the right tweaks it falls flat sometimes. 'President Snow's**

**Guest (Nov 15): I'm glad you're liking the story so far. I've planned most of the story already, mostly in my head, but some on paper. I hope I don't keep forgetting to inject the details though. Did I say Jack had powers? Hmm… Your predictions for tributes are interesting, and you've got some people right, though not necessarily in that particular district (But for 4 characters you hit the jackpot). But I should mention: District 9 is just going to be a blank space – they're just going to be a nameless boy and girl, because I need some extras (yep, I said it) and everytime I pin a name on someone, I feel like giving them a role the story, and … I go nuts.**

**Luvy Duvy: Thank you following the story! I hope my updates won't be to infrequent, but I do have a life outside this.**

**anastasia 1234: Thanks so much! I'll do my best to make this story good. I'm not certain that this story will be strictly Jelsa, but I can tell you that Jack and Elsa are going to have a deep connection to each other. And…that's it.**

**Review! Critque! Ask Questions!**


	7. Chapter 6: Making Friends

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 6: Making Friends

* * *

><p><strong>Training Centre<strong>

"This is it, ladies! The kitten whispers and the tickle fights stop _now_."

Hiccup had the uncanny suspicion that she was looking at him when she spat out 'ladies'. He felt pretty indignant about that. There was a lot of difference in being insulted as a 'wimp' and a 'lady' - Astrid would agree on that point.

"Five days from now, we'll placing you in the arena, and I can assure you," the head trainer narrowed her brows balefully at the tributes from her podium, "twenty-three of you will be _dead_ before the week's out."

Hiccup rolled his eyes. _Of all lovely ways to begin one's morning_. He wriggled awkwardly in the over-sized training shirt. His designer was pretty much living in denial, considering how none of his clothes fit him – he was swimming in his costume yesterday. But Hiccup couldn't be that mad. The designer was probably so used to making large clothes, so Hiccup supposed she was still pretty underwhelmed by his size. Who wasn't?

"The training stations are categorized according to survival skills and combat skills, but I wouldn't overlook the former," the Head Trainer continued, her uncovered right eye piercing and probing everyone of them. "10% of you will die from starvation, 20% from dehydration."

Hiccup made did some mental math. Supposing he wasn't part of the usual half that died in the first bloodbath, he'd have the sixty percent chance of not being killed by dehydration. At the moment though, dehydration wasn't his biggest problem.

"Fights between tributes will not be tolerated, and if you feel the dying need to break some bones, our 'friendly trainers' will assist you with that." The Head trainer made some pointed glares at the Careers, who returned it with innocuous expressions. Hiccup wasn't with them, because even he didn't know where he should be, he did know where he shouldn't be.

"You kids have got only three training days, and I'd advise you to use it wisely." She nodded to them for the last time. Hiccup couldn't help feel it was like a salute; like a _morituri te salutant_ salute - just the opposite.

With that said, the tributes were sent out to the stations. Hiccup noted that the Career Pack immediately went for combats, unsurprisingly. So he did the only sane thing any out-of-place geek could do.

Go for combats, of course.

* * *

><p><em>Go for combats, make a mess, leave<em>. That was Flynn's instructions.

She had argued that constructing herself as a weakling in the eyes of the Gamemakers wasn't going to be get her sponsors, but he had assured her over and over that he would settle the sponsors, and she just needed to pick her allies.

Her issue then was; how was she going to get allies if she persisted in making herself look like a _wuss_?

At an weights lifting station, she observed, with horror, at how the hulk of the District 11 boy picked up a couple of dumbbells, the way one would pick up cherrys, and smashing then into dummies standing several 50 feet away. Not far from him, she watched as the tall pair of siblings from District 7 practicing their use of close-range weaponry. One – the male – wore an eye-patch and he now he was locked in tight battle with a trainer. It was obvious enough though, that the bulky redhead was winning. The sister, who just barely looked like a girl at all, in Rapunzel's opinion, was practicing on in a simulation battlefield, wielding a foreboding pair of machetes. Rapunzel noted that her technique wasn't perfect, but her brute strength made up for it. They were just like the bulky, brutish hooligans that she had had nightmares about ever since she had started watching the Games.

Containing the trembling horror that shook her, she pressed on further.

She finally arrived at the knife throwing station. To her relief, she found that darts were available on the rack. Grabbed a handful of them, she headed in front of the targets available. When she released her first dart, she was rather pleased that she managed to strike the upper-arm of the human-shaped target on the board.

Well, until she watched the boy from District 1 pick up five small throwing knives and with a flick of his wrist, drove them straight into the hearts of the targets. _All at once_.

Rapunzel must have let out a squeak of astonishment, because the District 1 boy was suddenly staring in her direction. His expression was blankat first, as he serenely observed her quaking self, then scrutinizing the dart-pierced board. The gaze that he gave her in the end was one full of condescension and a little pity, but mostly, it was a look a predator gave to prey.

"Don't mind Shen. He's just a show-off; proud as a peacock, if you ask me."

Rapunzel spun to her right. She was tall; _much_ taller than herself, and the volumous black curls that cascaded down her shoulders seemed to emphasize that difference in size. Her skin was fair, but its pallor only brought out the hollowed-out appearance of her eyes. She smiled, and it was patronizing and demeaning as Shen had been, but Rapunzel noticed the lack of threat present in it.

Her eyes caught sight of the number of the girl's shoulder, and her eyes only widened. She was District 1 as well – a career. And she was talking to _her_.

The girl seemed to ignore her shock. "Shen thinks that throwing small, dwilly-willy shurikens makes him superior. But I doubt he can handle a real knife." As she spoke, she produced a dagger as long as her forearm, calmly tossing it up and catching it by the handle neatly each time. Facing the blonde, she asked, "What's your name, child?"

Rapunzel cleared her throat as she tried to answer while still mesmerized by the spinning dagger. "Rapu..Rapun…"

"Speak up, dear. I _do_ hate mumbling. It's so annoying. Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah.-" Rapunzel noticed that the girl had a habit of speaking in a rather formal and overdramatic fashion that came off as prissy and lofty.

Suddenly, the District 1 girl's gray eyes hardened. Rapidly, she flung the dagger across the room, hitting the target straight on mark. Correction, _piercing completely through_ the target, such that all that was left in the human target's heart, was a hole. The blonde could only gape at that.

"Now," she said, beaming warmly at the blonde girl, though somehow it sent shivers down the other girl's spine, "what did you say your name was, dearie?"

"Rapunzel," she managed to croak out this time.

"Like the plant. How quaint," the girl crooned indulgently, which made Rapunzel feel horribly small all over again. She hung her head low, intending to go away, but the District 1 girl then burst into laughter, pulling the blonde's arm.

"Come, come, now. I was just teasing," she excused herself. "You don't need to get all hurt and sorrowful, now do you?" There was a hint of accusation in the last sentence.

The blonde girl only shook her head, tugging self-consciously on the long braid that fell behind her.

The girl gestured to herself with her beautifully manicured hands – a result of her upbringing in the District of luxury products, no doubt. "Now, my name is Gothel. And I think, Rapunzel," her eyes were gleaming bright, " that we're going to be the _best_ of friends."

* * *

><p>"This is not working, Tooth."<p>

Jack was lying down in the middle of simulation room, his sword about ten feet away from him, just out of reach. About ten seconds ago, when the programme had been still in motion, he had been devoured by a pack of virtual hungry wolves.

"Let's try changing the weapon then." Jack wasn't completely sure why Tooth stuck with him long. As far as he understood it, most tributes preferred not to communicate with each other, even those with previous ties - it saved the inconvenience of killing a friend later.

But even up to now,Tooth had largely ignored the norms and persisted in being friendly with him. It wasn't as they shared mentors. It was possible that the amicability was a farce for her to double-cross him in the future, but he rather doubted that from her sweet nature. A more likely answer was that she would rather someone from her district to win, since this would mean that District 10 would gain extra rewards even if she didn't survive. But Jack was most inclined to believe that it was simply because Tooth was too strong a woman to let anything like the Games define her choices.

Unfortunately, that meant she didn't take his opinion much into consideration either.

Seconds later, she put him back his feet, stuffed a new weapon in his hands, and reset the program for the simulation battlefield. He sighed, running his hand through his brown hair, wondering what horrors she had programmed for him now.

The glass doors slide shut. Shaking his arms as he prepared himself, he was surprised to note that Tooth was in the room with him. "Wait. Why are you here?"

"New mission objective," she told him simply, as she raised a blindfold to her eyes, covering them completely. "Protect me."

Jack's jaw dropped as pathetic rushed in him like a flood. "_What!_"

"Make sure I don't die," the girl rephrased unhelpfully, as she snuggly patted the knot at the back of her head. "And I die if you die. Just saying."

Blinking laser lights flashing across the room informed him that the program. Jack could only grip the pole in his hand – apparently it had fancy name, like _bo-staff_ – as he drew the blindfolded girl nearer to himself. "Why the staff?" He hissed, not sure if he should be mad at her. "And definitely, why the _blindfold_?"

"I thought the staff would remind you of a shepherd's crook," she explained matter-of-factly. Jack supposed that part made sense; every boy in District 10 probably had some experience in sheep herding - the Capitol had much use for wool in winter fashion, after all.

"The blindfold?" His eyes were darting warily back and fold.

"Oh, just to put my life completely in your hands," she replied cheerfully, just as the first wolf formed from the lasers, pouncing at the petite girl.

Fortunately, Jack had been paying attention, and spun the staff such that it struck the wolf in the stomach, throwing it off completely. Two more leapt up behind them both, and Jack grabbed Tooth, shoving her behind himself as he fended off the wolves.

The wolves that came attacking increased in speed and numbers over time, to such any extent that Jack had to keep dragging the girl around in circles to keeping the virtual teeth from biting her. She was perfectly oblivious to the happening, humming happily to herself while he desperately kept the jaws of the wolves away from them.

Much of the fight was a blur to him, but he clearly understood that many of the blows he delivered were definitely fatal. He had killed several animals before, especially wild predators that attacked the sheep, but he never had to kill so many so quickly before. He grimaced, but persevered. He would have time to reflect on it later.

Just when he managed to rid them of two more wolf attackers, a much taller figure rose from the yellow lasers, and to Jack's astonishment, it was a human figure – an archer, to be exact. Raising his bow at him, the archer fired. Snapping out his freeze in time, Jack spun his rod quickly, pleased that he managed to deflect them after all. But spinning the staff had forced him to move someway from his female companion, and now he noted that the archer now targeted her.

With the sudden rush of fear overwhelming him, Jack's mind barely registered what was happening when he had flung the rod from his hands, hitting the archers squaring the jaw, knocking the archer's skull against the room ball. The archer burst back to his laser form.

Jack drew a sharp breath. He had struck a killing blow. On a human. A virtual human. But still…

The yellow laser lights flickered than disappeared. The room now announced his score, but Jack wasn't paying attention. He still stared at the bo-staff lying on the ground innocently, as if it hadn't just smashed somebody's skull.

He heard Tooth telling him something, and that brought him back to the present. "What?"

"Eighteen out of twenty this time," she nodded at the glowing holographic scoreboard in front of them.

Jack's attention turned completely to his score now, overshadowing the strange disquiet he had felt earlier. "But…how?"

"You're a guardian, Jack."

He frowned at her, and shook his head. "Nope, not getting you at all."

She elaborated. "You thrive on protective instinct; not violence, or even adrenaline. I've seen you fight off animals before, so I was wondering why you were doing so poorly."

"Ouch." Jack made a fake hurt expression.

"Then I realised, you only fought well when you were protecting something, or _someone_ – that's what brings out your best." Her smile turned into a wide grin. "Especially if it's a _girl_."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Jack demanded, while Tooth continued laughing, bearing a smirking expression. Shaking his head, he joined her, chuckling as they made the out of the simulation theatre-

-where they were stopped by the blonde Career from District 2.

"You." She pointed at Jack with the double-bladed axe.

Jack gulped, hoping that a trainer would quickly come by and stop this girl from slashing him in ribs, or slicing him in pieces, or both in that order.

But the girl did neither. "On behalf of the others, you're invited for lunch."

The _others_ – she was referring to the Career pack. It suddenly struck him. They must have been observing his recent simulation run. He didn't know he was _that_ good.

Jack's throat went dry as he tried to answer, "I…"

"Yes?" the girl swung her axe around rather ominously.

"…would love that," Jack finished lamely, while he mentally cursed himself for not having guts to refuse.

"Good," the blonde girl beamed at him, and suddenly her whole transformed from terrifying into something akin to radiant beauty, but it fell away to a dark smirk.

Jack's heart was heavy in the next few hours as he anticipated the undesired dining session.

* * *

><p>Merida felt like tearing her hair out, but she didn't. If there was any part of her appearance she appreciated, it was her hair. Her unkempt curls were perhaps a bane to her mother's combing efforts, but to Merida, they were the symbol of her wild, free-loving nature.<p>

At the moment though, it was very trying for her _not_ to yank the red coils from her scalp.

"_Oooooh_, 'lease that _arrow_ already," she growled at her dull-expressioned District mate, who was still trying to aim with the bow in his hands. She could have left him alone, to wander his way through the Training Centre. But he was so disconnected with reality, so 'lost in his world', Merida's conscience couldn't permit her to leave him alone. He was the son of her father's friend, and by extension, that sort of made this boy a family-friend, even if she barely knew him. That meant that she had some obligations to ensure he'd at least _try _to fight for his life, come the Games.

Besides, he was her last connection to home.

She unconsciously tugged on the small pin she wore her collar. It was engraved with her family crest – a sword in front of four inter-locking circles. Her father had given it to her, telling her to wear it proudly. And she did, but pride was little comfort to the homesick heart.

She wished she could pick up the bow, but she promised herself she wouldn't reveal her abilities to the Careers. It would be her 'secret skill'. She pleased to observe that so far none of the Careers appeared particularly skilled with a bow, though those from District 1 were very skilled with knife-throwing.

Wee Dingwall was still taking forever to release that arrow, so she turned her attentions elsewhere, before she bashed his head inwards and ended their District's chances of winning all together.

Her eventually settled on the boy from District 6, whose pale face faced the ceiling. His appearance reminded Merida of a television screen, the way it flicked from expressions of anger to maliciousness to frustration so quickly.

Facing up, he called out in a saccharine-sweet voice, "Come down now, and give me back my mace." Then it suddenly became loud and furious. "Or I'll come up and strangled the life out of you!" Then he giggled in a manner that made Merida shuddered.

"Nope. Not convinced," a familiar smug voice replied from the ceiling. Squinting hard, Merida realized that it was the small, dirty-haired girl she had met on the roof the day before, and she was lying in the nets attached to the ceiling, holding a mace in her hands. "You're too afraid of heights."

"Now, now let's not be unreasonable," the District 6 shifted into a bubbly façade. "I _really_ like that mace, and you don't, so you should give it back to me."

"What?" The girl cocked her head at him, scornfully cupping her hands behind her ears. "I can't hear you. You've got so much trash coming out from your mouth it made my ears numb."

"I'm warning _you_!" The boy stuck his finger up threateningly, but the girl just cackled at that. She then noted Merida watching across the hall and shot the redhead girl a wink. Merida allowed herself to shoot back a grin.

The District 6 boy was stomping around below the girl, hissing and cursing, occasionally letting out a few giggles every now and then. She, getting bored of his grumbling, finally said, "Alright, you diaper-baby. Don't get yourself into a knot." A wicked grin spread across her chubby cheeks. Holding out the mace right above the boy's head, she said, "_Catch_."

The boy squealed, fleeing, while the girl guffawed heartily at his reaction, as she passed the mace from hand to hand. Merida couldn't help chuckling to herself, earning a questioning glance from Wee Dingwall, who had managed to shoot a couple of arrows at the carpet floor.

The laughter fell from Merida. "Wha'cha gawkin' at, you scaffy lad?"

With an unchanged expression, Wee Dingwall resumed littering the floor with arrows, while Merida continued watching the antics of the scruffy little girl from District 11.

* * *

><p><em>Pain. Love it.<em>

Hiccup winced as he uneasily tried to reset his own shoulder. During his 'adventures' around the combats training stations, he had been the victim of a very painful back throw. Of course, the boy from District 4 claimed it was an accident; that he thought that Hiccup was a trainer. Any idiot could see that the maniacal guy with scars just wanted to toss someone around, but the trainers just closed an eye to the matter, and now he was nursing a dislocated shoulder joint - not that he didn't get them in school all the time.

Eventually, with a 'pop', he sighed in relief as he felt his bones return to their place. Rolling his shoulders back a few times to check, he returned to the task at hand.

It was lunchtime now, and he knew that some tables down the Careers were seated together, as if showing off that they were unafraid to hang out with each other. He snorted. _Yeah, sure._

There was a huge spread of food available, but Hiccup wasn't that interested in eating as he was in sketching this contraption he had in his mind. After watching spending much of the morning in the combat section, he had observed many of the skilled tributes, including the Careers of course, while they trained – or showed off. From his deliberation and observations, he decided that obviously, he would lose in hand-to-combat. He stood a chance in ranged combat, since he had steady hands, but he could barely pick a crossbow. A bow was a possibility, but from what he had tested, he couldn't stretch most of them, so that posed a problem. He didn't have the strength the throw at a distance, so knife throwing was out of the question.

He needed something that would throw it for him, and that got his sketchpad out.

He was so absorbed in drafting and muttering to himself, that he didn't even noticed that someone had seat down across him, and was watching him.

"Takes too long to build," Hiccup murmured to himself, before he tore out the page. The person picked up the loose sheet, scanning it then nodding in agreement, then chucking it away.

"Too heavy," Hiccup mumbled, scrunching up the next sheet. The person had already got caught a glance of it, and agreed to that as well.

This process repeated a couple of times, and throughout Hiccup stayed oblivious to the companion by his side, silently approving with his reactions.

"Too much metal," he mused at that next sketch, then scrunching it up, ready to toss it aside.

But this time, the person spoke up. "No! This is _perfect_!"

"Wha-whoa!" Hiccup jumped back in shock when he finally realized of this person's existence. Doing that while seated was unwise, since it resulted in him tumbling backwards, of the bench, flapping his arms like a disturbed chicken.

"Whoa, are you okay?" The person asked, leaning over the table to check on him.

"Nothing that won't eventually go away," Hiccup groaned in reply. Rubbing his back, he added in a wry voice, "Emphasis on '_eventually_'."

The person was a boy who appeared hardly older, than himself, and was strangely just as small and scrawny, _as himself_. Messy black spikes stuck out from his head and his face bore an awkward grin. From the tip of his sleeve, Hiccup noted the number '3'. That would explain his interest in his sketches, if nothing else.

The minute Hiccup was back on his seat, the boy got down to business. "Okay, you're right that this thingy" – he jabbed at the crumpled sheet that Hiccup had just almost cast away – "being unable to work without metal. But the poles can be substituted temporarily with hard woods, like Ironwood or

Wamara. If they're available, that is. If you really don't want it to splinter, you get the arrows in the arena – they're completely reinforced with carbon-core-"

"-making it even more lightweight, and just as strong as metal," Hiccup finished, an toothy grin appearing on his own face. He stuck out a hand at the boy. "Hiccup."

"Hiro Hamada," the boy replied promptly, taking the hand firmly. "So, Hiccup, mind if I borrow the pen? I've got some ideas for upgrades."

* * *

><p><strong>SN: **

**Time to finally tell you guys who the tributes are! **

**Full List of Tributes**

**District 1: M: Shen from KungFu Panda 2 F: Gothel**

**District 2: M: Hiccup F: Astrid**

**District 3: M: Hiro F: Honey Lemon**

**District 4: M: Dagur F: Heather (Both are from the **_**Riders of Berk**_** series. For those you who didn't watch the show, don't worry. If there is need to, I'll give backgrounds on them when relevant)**

**District 5: M: Wee Dingwall F: Merida**

**District 6: M: Turbo from Wreck it Ralph F: Taffyta**

**District 7: The Stabbington Brothers from Tangled, with no-eye-patch as the genderbent female twin (If by some chance you are a huge fan of the Stabbington BROTHERS, sorry, but this isn't going to play a big role in the story)**

**District 8: M: Greno F: Rapunzel**

**District 9: Unnamed people that will stay unnamed**

**District 10: M: Jack F: Tooth**

**District 11: M: Ralph F: Vanellope**

**District 12: M: Hans F:Elsa**

**That's it folks!**

**Small Sgt. Calhoun cameo in the beginning. It may hold significance…or not.**

_**morituri te salutant – We who are about to die salute you.**_

**And that's the intros for both Gothel and Hiro! No Elsa today.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Work has really taken up a lot of my time, so I haven't managed to write finish this till today. I've actually written two full version of this chapter, one which is a much longer version of Jack's experience in the simuls, and Hiccup's meet with Hiro, but I discarded those because it felt too draggy.**

**Mailbox: **

**Meganqueen1: I have no idea how many chapters this is going to be, since I've never finished such a novel-ish story before. I'm aiming for 30 chapter for this story, but for the sequel (a sequel is likely, because of events in Mocking Jay), it'll be different.**

**Minty4ever: I'm glad this story stirs your interest. I hope the little bit of Hiccup here helps, but even if it doesn't, don't fret. Everyone of the Five (even some secondary characters) play an essential role in the story – Hiccup by virtue of his birthright ( as son to the mayor Panem's most despised district) is already interesting, and his attitude and talents would make it even more so. **

**I'm a stickler for canon ships, so it's likely this story would end up being Hiccstrid, but not necessarily Jelsa (since it's not canon), though as mentioned before, Romance will play a factor, but it's not always the main focus.**

**Queen Elsa Frost of Arendelle: Glad to see you using your account now! Please don't stop reading my story, but do get a life outside Fanfiction. It's an amazing world out there.**

**ElvisRules41: I'm actually not a THG fan, but I do like the themes and concepts it discuss, which is why I'm writing this. And I like this setting too.**

**Awsomaniatica: Thanks for your consistent reviews! I really enjoy them. Bunnymund is my favourite of the Guardians, actually, so I wanted to bring him in. I actually considered North as Jack's mentor, but I thought he'd be too nice to Jack. You got the twins right, so get yourself a virtual cookie! At this point, I'm wary of bringing in characters that have pre-2010 existences, so I'm not too sure if more the Toy Story cast, or even the Kungfu Panda cast would show up, as supporting roles or just cameos. I'm glad you thought the ice thing was smart – because I honestly came up with it only when I was 3/4s through that chapter.**

**AmyMilo: I'm glad you like Pitch's place in this story. I have to admit in this part he may not play such a large role in the central storyline, but in the sequel (which I'm likely to write, but no promises) he'll be extremely important. I'll be tweaking around with his character and his origins a bit, because it struck me that the movie Pitch was a bit of wimp sometimes.**

**That's all for now. Next update will hopefully be next week. Hopefully.**


	8. Chapter 7: Making Friends Part 2

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 7: Making Friends Part 2

* * *

><p><strong>District 12 Living Quarters<strong>

Ice. It haunted her like a shadow.

Every time she caught sight of even a little frost on the window panes, she'd glanced frantically to her hands, get a mild reassurance from the sight of her gloves, then eventually, she'd come down. But then, she'd catch sight of a stray mist that appeared out of nowhere, and she'd go into a panic attack again.

She'd yet to speak to Pabbie about her...abilities, and as she far as she was concerned, she'd rather keep it that way. He'd obviously chosen not to give her away, but she didn't know how long he'd keep mum about it, or what he honestly thought about her.

Tonight the dining table only had herself, Pabbie and Olaf. Even though she was on better terms with her sister's apparent boyfriend now, she'd remained adamant in having separate trainings, thought for different reason now. Hans and his stylist – an unpleasant man by the name of Weselton - were dining in another room. Elsa was sympathetic with Hans on that point. She knew that the boy was constantly at odds with the fussy old man.

"So, Elsa, make any friends today?" The small white man asked her, as he merrily spread the butter onto his bread slices, then sprinkling little pieces of ham onto them, gurgling in delight as he did.

Elsa twisted her gloved fingers together. After the parade, she ensured that she was always wearing gloves – even convincing Olaf to incorporate them into her training suit altogether. If anyone asked, she was either cold, or unwilling touch other people's sweat. The latter usually worked in the training centre.

There was one time this morning she had nearly been called out though. She had been the fire-making station, following the instruction of the holographic screen, attempting to stoke a flame with nothing but a stick in her hand that was pierced into another. However, no matter how many times she spun the stick in her covered hands, there wasn't so much as a smolder.

"It's never catch on," she had heard a voice behind and jumped. At first, she had thought it was a trainer, but glancing up, she had realized that the tall, lanky brown-haired boy was the good-looking one from District 10 – the one who was 'playing as the playboy', Hans had described.

"You need to do it faster, and move it up and down. Here." He bent down to where she was, taking the stick in from her hands. Ensuring that it stuck into the dented centre of the tinder wood, he rubbed the stick rapidly in his hands, rolling his palms up and down as he did. Barely a second later, the base of the stick began smoking, and Elsa looked on in astonishment. The boy blew gently on the smoke, and it thickened.

"Only works in dry weather, though," the District 10 boy had admitted, but he had appeared rather satisfied with his accomplishment. "In winter back home, we had usually used tinder boxes. Whatever season it is, nights get cold on shepherd duty."

"Not much wood in my district," Elsa answered him absently, her mind briefly drifting home. She could imagine Anna preparing her own breakfast – probably burning up her pancakes as usual – then getting dressed for school. By then, she would have noticed that was getting late and trip over feet while she hurried over to the door, where she would hold both coats while she waited for her elder sister to –

Elsa had forgotten; she was no longer in that picture.

"-coal-mining district. Forget all about that," the boy had continued rattling on. He had said something else, which she hadn't caught, before she had found him holding the stick out to her.

He had nodded at her. "You try now."

Taking it, she had tried to copy his actions exactly, but the fabric of her gloves kept catching onto the bark on the stick, preventing her from rolling it up and down. The gloves also made the stick from her palms a few times, slowing her speed.

"You should remove the gloves," the boy had nodded at her hands. "Added friction helps your grip."

Elsa had stiffened when she heard that. Trying to cover it up, she had replied, "I have a thing about…" At that moment, she had realized the hygiene excuse wasn't going to work for a stick, so she gripped the first thing that came to mind, "…dirt."

"Dirt?" The boy had seemed highly amused at her response. "You do know that a majority of the arenas are designed in naturalistic environments – all which have a lot of dirt."

Right there and then, he had her stumped. Seeing that there was no way she could get out of it, she had reluctantly pulled both black gloves off. Placing them down near the woodpile, with all her determination, she had willed her hands not to freeze up as she stoked the wood.

"Yes! That's much better, it's just that – oh, let me help."

He had drawn up closer, kneeling forward, when he had put _his hands _over_ hers_.

Her reaction had been immediate. Snatching back her hands, she had glared at him. "Don't touch me!"

Her words must have been had heard by everyone in the training centre, because from the corner of eye, she had noted that some trainers had come forward, though they had yet to approach them.

He had backed away instantly, very much shocked. "Geez, it was just your hands. Which are, by the way, really _cold_-"

She had turned her back on him, shoving her gloves back on promptly.

"-I'm really sorry. I promise I won't even give you _eye contact_ if – hey, where you going?"

She had gotten to her feet, rapidly walking away from the station. Fortunately he hadn't given chase.

"Name's Jack!" Had been the last thing she had heard from him, followed by a forlorn, "by the way."

She had tried to justify that she had yelled at him because she didn't trust him – he was her competitor in the Games, after all. But she knew the truth, of course. She knew he was genuinely friendly, and she wasn't afraid of this gangly boy, who, though a half-a-head taller than her, was hardly a threat to herself. No, she was afraid of the ice, the growing power within herself that she fought to control everyday. And with that fear, she drove away everyone who ever tried to reach out to her; Anna; Hans; the boy from District 10

"No, Olaf. No friends," she had answered finally, picking up another scone with her gloved hands.

* * *

><p><strong>District 8 Living Quarters<strong>

"I've got good news," Flynn told her when they both sat down in at the dining table. Avoxes lay out glass and steel trays of exotic foods before them, and retreating to the shadows.

"Thanks," Rapunzel said automatically, then mentally slapped herself. Flynn had told her that one never spoke to an avox unless to give an order. Anything else would usually result in the dumb servants getting punished. She sincerely hoped that her slip-up went unnoticed. Stealthily, she slid a piece of orange to the brown chameleon sitting on the table, where he gobbled it up appreciatively. Then, she answered her mentor, "Oh, I've got good news too, but you first."

"Okay." He set down his knife, glancing heavenward for a moment, as if thinking how to phrase his news. Then he informed her, bursting with excitement, "You've got sponsors! Yay!"

"Really?" Rapunzel's eyes brightened with incredulous surprise. Her jaw hung out as she gasped in amazement. "Wow!"

"I know, right?" Flynn was just as excited as she was. If it wasn't that both of them had their hands full with food, Rapunzel was sure they would have been hopping up and down in a victory dance right there and then.

"You _are_ good at negotiating," Rapunzel complimented him, her eyes shining at him. "Thank you."

"Usually, I'd take the credit, but these guys came looking for me instead," Flynn admitted, slightly abashed Rapunzel's ready praise. "I'll show you who."

Stuffing a croissant in his mouth, he gestured for her to wait. Standing up, he went over to the nearby television screen and switched on the holographic projector. Putting on last night chariot parade that happened two days ago, he fast-forwarded most of the programme, until at the president's speech. "There," he pointed at a couple that were sitting on the President's balcony.

Rising from her seat and brushing her dress of crumbs, Rapunzel joined him in front of the projector. Though from the Capitol, the couple Flynn pointed at dressed rather ordinarily, but richly. The man had heavy brown-beard that matched his deep blue overcoat, sporting a golden chain with sun symbol on it. His wife had equally dark-brown hair, drawn back behind her head, and she wore a beautiful purple gown that made her look not only wise, but elegant as well. Around her neck, she wore a pendant with a sun emblem that much like her husband's.

A thought struck Rapunzel. "Wait...if they're sitting on the President's balcony, that means their pretty powerful people, aren't they?"

"Pretty powerful?" Flynn scoffed at that. "More like the one of the most influential people in the Capitol!" He flailed his arms wildly to exaggerate the size of it. "I present," with a dramatic flair, as usual, "The Minister Corona and his wife."

Rapunzel peered closely at the two. Minister Corona was a grim-looking man, with the lines on his face betraying the many hardships he had experienced in life, though what hardships an official in the Capitol could undergo, Rapunzel didn't know. In contrast, Mrs. Corona appeared to be a gentle-seeming soul, but her smile was visible marked with a humble sorrow that could never be erased.

She couldn't help but feel that she would like to know more about these people. "My training scores aren't even out yet, so why did they pick me?"

"No idea, actually," Flynn confessed, shrugging. "Maybe they liked your hair, I don't know. But they've been asking for you ever since the parade. "

He headed back to his seat, and so did his mentee. "Anyway, the important thing is Coronas are filthy rich, and if all negotiations go smooth tomorrow - which they will - you've got nothing to worry about in the arena. Besides getting mangled by wild beasts and slaughtered by other kids, I mean."

When they both sat down again, Rapunzel slipped a grape to her pet, who promptly turned purple as he swallowed it, as the brown-haired man asked her, "So, what's your news?"

"Well," she helped herself to another slice of pie, "I've got someone who wants to be my ally."

"Uh-huh," Flynn was momentarily distracted by an Avox who brought him a letter on a tray.

Rapunzel continued, "She really good at knife-throwing and climbing. I think her sword-fighting's pretty swell too. And she's nice to me." She hesitated a bit there. "Well, kind'a nice."

"So, who's she?" Her mentor inquired, but his eyes were on the letter in his hand, whilst the other raised a coffee cup to his lips.

"Gothel. District 1."

There was a loud 'clink' when Flynn dropped the ceramic cup onto its saucer, cracking both. An avox came forward immediately to clean it up, while Flynn demanded of the blonde, "A Career?"

"Yes?" Rapunzel replied, perplexed by her mentor's reaction.

"You do know that Careers hunt in packs, right?"

"So I'll probably get to join them. Isn't that a good thing?"

"No!" Flynn looked at her as if she was mad. Noting how she shrunk back at that, he softened his tone, "Look, did you notice the use of the word 'hunt'? The Careers do proactive killing. You wan'na be involved in _that_?"

"I'm not that weak, you know," she flared, though inwardly, she had her qualms.

Flynn shook his head. "This isn't about strength, Blondie. It's about scars - scars in your head - and _trust me_, they last long."

Rapunzel ran out of logical options, she went for personal ones instead. "I thought you were helping me to win."

"Nobody wins, Punzie," he explained sadly. "Only some survive." He did it unconsciously, but Rapunzel noticed his fists were clenched till his knuckles turned white. "I'm not helping you put through this alliance. I suggest you find someone else."

Rapunzel wiped her hands on a napkin, rose to her feet and stomped off. Flynn just watched her go, then continued fiddling with the letter when he noticed a pair of huge reptilian eyes staring at him from the table.

The chameleon still freaked him out, but Flynn refused to show it. "What?"

The creature gave him a pointed glare.

"Well, it's for her own good," he replied heatedly, folding up the letter and tucking it in a pocket.

The chameleon rolled his eyes and shook his head. _Not that part_, he seemed to say.

"Then what?"

The chameleon deadpanned, _Stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about_.

"Well, I don't!" Flynn declared stubbornly, "And you're not even _talking_!" He sighed, rubbing his temple furiously. "Look at me," he said to no one in particular, "I'm talking to a frog."

Pascal made an indignant squeak.

"_Chameleon._"

Pascal made an approving croon.

Flynn raised his head only to note that the creature's eyes were still on himself. He groaned, leaning on his elbows as he roughly pushed back his brown hair. Defeated, he held out his palm for the reptile. "C'mon."

Pascal hopped on, and the man raised his arm to so that he could climb onto his shoulder. Sighing again, Flynn headed off to find his blonde mentee.

* * *

><p><strong>District 10 Living Quarters<strong>

"So, any allies for you, Toothiana?" He handed the butter to his mentee.

She received it gladly. "Thank you, North. Well, I'd like Jack please, if he'd have me."

"Well, how 'bout you, Jack?" The boisterous white beard man turned to him.

"Tooth's fine too," the boy replied, but he was staring dejectedly at the beef stew before him. It wasn't the food that was bothering him, though.

"You two sure are a creative bunch, aren't ya?" His mentor remarked, dripping with sarcasm, as he filled his bowl with carrots.

Seeing Jack's slumped shoulders and his despondent expression, Tooth answered pityingly for him, "The girl Jack wanted to ask didn't give him a chance."

"You are making it sound like he was asking her on a date," her mentor commented, chuckling jollily.

There was an awkward silence as everyone registered what Nicholas St. North had just said.

Bunnymund was the first to break it. "Mate," he asked cautiously, "do you - _ahem_," he fumbled uneasily, " – _like_ this girl? As in, _like_ like?"

Jack went red, but he tried to appear aghast instead. "What? No!"

"-because the last time I saw '_love in the battlefield_' in the Games – well, let's say it just didn't end pretty -"

"-and both parties died in the end," North added, not really noticing how unconstructive his addition was.

"I don't like _her_! I don't like anyone!"

"Are you sure?" His mentor questioned him firmly, locking his black eyes on the brown-haired boy.

"Absolutely!" Jack was quick to insist, though he could barely suppress his embarrassment.

His claims were enough to appease the mentors, but Tooth just raised an eyebrow at him. Sometimes he hated how remarkably perceptive she was to everything, especially himself. He dug into the stew. Hard.

"Anyway," Bunnymund changed the topic to break the uncomfortable atmosphere, "I've been approached by dozens of sponsors for you, Jack. Naturally, most of them are female and single."

North burst out into hearty guffaws at this point, pounding the table as he did, and even Tooth giggled at Jack's expense. The boy just scowled, shoving a spoon of stew in his mouth as the diners chortle merrily away, swallowing it roughly.

"-and all of them are older than you," added his mentor, when the two paused for a breath, but his words just set them off again. Bunnymund even spared a smirk at him.

Jack exhaled heavily. _Definitely worse than high school._ "Whatever. So long as they get me stuff."

"Quite a number of mentors have been approaching me too. Sorry, Tooth," the tattooed man added, noting the guilty expression on his fellow victor's face.

Tooth just shrugged, giving her mentor a comforting pat. "It's okay. I don't really mind."

"So, who?" Jack asked, as he pushed away the stew and starting on a plate of jam tarts.

"1, 2 and 4."

Jack groaned again, muttering to the ceiling "Why me?" pathetically again.

Bunnymund was annoyed. "Mate, you know Careers wanting you is a _good_ thing?"

"Well, _I_ don't want them," the boy growled obstinately in return. He remembered watching them train; the boy from District 4 decapitating a dummy, while cackling like a maniac with every limp he severed; the District 1 boy whipping his long-sword in rapid circles, slicing up the mannequins like they were nothing more than sheets of paper; the District 2 girl yelling and throwing her axe from target to target, without a pause or a breath. All had the unblinking willingness to end a life. But Jack could never bring himself to think that way.

They said that the Games could change people rapidly. They said that Bunnymund had been like a terrified little rabbit when they place him in, but he emerged as the hardened, battle-scarred warrior that the Capitol so admired and respected today. But Jack didn't want to change. He promised his sister _he_ would come home, as _himself_, not some cold, desentisized person that wore his face.

"You know, you may not have a choice, mate," His mentor reminded him, sounding perhaps harsher than he intended.

Bitterly, he shoved his plate away. Bunnymund was right, of course. How fate loved the irony; that the only way he could be reunited with Emma was to become the monster she feared.

* * *

><p><strong>District 2 Living Quarters<strong>

Hiccup was puzzled. And he told himself he was puzzled, because 'hurt' was such a heavy word.

He was watching television, a recap of the 73rd Hunger games, but all the endless blood and gore sickened him, doing little comfort to nurse his emotional sores.

He had truly found a kindred spirit in Hiro Hamada of District 3. Okay, the guy was crazier than himself; and he was _way_ more impulsive; and half the time he was up to mischief, but Hiro was a genius in mechanics. The boy had confided to him that he was considered a prodigy of sort in his hometown, and having spent a day with him, Hiccup believed it completely. The boy had shared with him about force-fields, electromagnetic pulse (EMP) generators, even about the micro-cameras in that Capitol kept in some places of the city. Heck! He had even showed Hiccup how he would hack through it. Perhaps he had been a little behind in the robotics jargon, but as far as Hiccup had been concerned, Hiro had been someone who finally spoke his language.

Until this afternoon. During this lunch break, Hiro had introduced him to his District mate, a geeky-looking blonde who wore a pair of glasses.

"My real name's Aiko, but everyone calls me Honey Lemon," she shook his hand, with an excited giggle.

"Mine's Hiccup," he had told her.

Her eyes had widened behind the lens, and her eyes had darted at once to his sleeve. He had known she was looking for his District number. However, his oversized shirt had ensured that the number was hidden in the folds completely.

She had whispered something to Hiro at that point, which made the boy content expression into one of horror. He stared at Hiccup for a long moment, such that the elder boy wondered if he had something on his face.

"But I thought it was just a _nickname_," he had hissed back at her. Honey Lemon then had said something else, and realization had dawned in Hiro's eyes.

Glancing at his blonde district mate, then back at Hiccup, Hiro had just started shaking his head in disbelief, before running out the room altogether.

"Hiro!" The blonde had called behind him. Turning to Hiccup, she had said, "I'm really sorry, Hiccup. You seem like a nice guy, but Hiro…he…I…" - she had just sighed –" we can't be friends anymore. Goodbye."

She had left to follow Hiro, leaving him alone on the lunch table with his sketches. Just like the everyday he had back home.

Hiccup guessed Hiro didn't know he had been hanging out with a District 2 tribute all this while, but he couldn't understand why the boy had reacted so badly. Were the Career district tributes so intimidating?

Who was kidding? Careers were notorious for using their added strength and stamina in the games. Essentially to the weaker districts, they were the bullies, and it was not surprise that few wanted to associate with them. But what ticked Hiccup off the most was that he _wasn't_ a Career – he had dropped out of training too early. Even the Careers didn't consider him a Career! But Hiro, who had spent an entire training day with him, lumped him automatically with the fearsome, athletic brutes when he had learnt that fatal number.

It was frustrating; being a reject in the Career group _and_ the non-Career group.

He heard light-steps come up behind him. A fresh, wet fragrance that filled the room told him that she'd just used the bath, and reminded him he should probably do that before he went to bed. Not that he did anything physically strenuously today.

"You should really consider joining us, you know," she was saying. Hiccup forced himself to keep staring front. It wasn't as if she was naked or anything, but if he even so much as glanced at her with her flowing blonde hair down, his brain may very well switch off and he might make some decision he'd eventually regret.

Yes, it had happened too many times during his short-lived academy days.

"No thanks," he answered shortly, hoping that she would give up her endeavor. He began sketching some designs, while occasionally glancing up at the television.

"It's tradition, Hiccup. Careers always work together."

And there that word was again.

"Didn't finish the academy, so I'm not counted," he replied. He decided to channel all his attentions to the television screen, even flipping up the volume to cover up the girl's nagging.

She wouldn't give in though, and he supposed that he didn't really expect her to. She was _Astrid Hofferson_. "Look, you can't sell yourselves as the fighter, but you can be the team strategist. I know you'd do well in that. We _need_ a fight tactician."

Hiccup snorted, but softly so she wouldn't hear. Keeping his eyes glued to the screen, he watched the District 3 tribute in the screen anxiously gripping onto his District 2 allies' wrist, preventing her from plunging down the cliff as gravity dictated she would. There were growls of the mutations far away, and the District 3 boy kept glancing over his shoulder, as he strained to heave the girl up.

Even though he tried to block her out, he heard her sigh (well, it was the most wonderful sigh in the world - to him at least. He blamed his hormones). "C'mon it'd be an embarrassing if the District 2 tribute is missing from the Career Pack! Especially for you! Can you imagine what the public would think?"

He ignored her and continued watching. The District 3 tribute had managed to drag his ally up to the cliff after all, but the minute he turned his back, the girl had suddenly whipped out a saber and pierced it through his ribs. When she removed it, blood splattered everywhere. The boy gasped, staring down at the gap in his chest, while the girl smirked cruelly. He crumpled like a heap on the ground, while the girl laughed sadistically, dropping the bloodied blade beside him.

"If nothing else, do it for your father. For goodness sake, do you want to die during the Bloodbath? How - what would people think of the _Mayor's son_ dying like _that_?"

Abruptly, the District 2 tribute's victory was cut short when a metal disc flew past the screen, hitting her square in the head. She collapsed, a dulled expression in her eyes. A cannon sounded, marking her death.

"Hiccup Haddock, are you hearing a word I say?"

The District 3 girl had appeared in the scene, dashing over her bleeding District mate. Propping his head on up on her knee, she blubbered something incoherent as she tried to soothe him, tears streaking down her face. His breaths grew wheezy and short, as he tried to whisper something in her ear. His shaking left hand removed a band from his arm – his token, probably –and the camera did a close-up as he pressed it into the sobbing girl's palm.

Then the cannon sounded, and the girl's bawling echoed throughout the arena.

"U…unlike what you may think, I don't actually want you dead. Yet. Maybe."

There was the announcement of the victor's name, but she was weeping to loudly for it to be heard clearly. Before the credits rolled in, there was a brief refresher of the names of tributes; names in red for the fallen ones. Hiccup's eyes went to the District 3 row to get the girl's name, but instead he caught the boy's. That shocked him.

"_Hamada_."

Astrid was confused. "What?"

"Hamada," Hiccup repeated, more to himself than anyone else. At once everything fell into place.

He couldn't really blame Hiro for his prejudice against the Peacekeeper district. It was after all a District 2 tribute that just murdered his brother.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**Avox (plural Avoxes) – Mentioned THG books, they are 'traitors' (usually minor criminals) to the capitol who have their tongues cut out and their force to live as servants. They are treated cruelly. It is unlikely they will play a large role, so this is FYI.**

**It's pretty obvious who the Minister Corona and his wife are.**

**Honey Lemon saying her real name is a reference to her Marvel comic identity **_**Aiko Miyazaki**_**, which the film doesn't mention. **

**The District 3 tributes of the previous Games are pretty obvious too. And there won't be any Big Hero 6 spoilers (at least for this part. The sequel if it happens will have them) – I'd planned their roles based on trailers alone, way before I saw the film. **

**Up Next: Judgment and Training Scores. What scores do you think our five would get?**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**I got a bit of inspiration after writing the previous chapter, and then this appeared! **

**Mailbox:**

**Meganqueen1: Thanks! As shown in this chapter Tooth, she does know about Jack's little crush. But Jack's supposed 'protectiveness over girls' actually refers to one significant other female in his life, who is **_**much**_** shorter…**

**Queen Elsa Frost of Arendelle: I'm glad you do have a life. Sometimes I forget to have one. Thanks for favouriting! It makes me so happy that you like this enough for that!**

**Awsomaniatica: Thank you! I'm still very afraid when I handle Merida and Jack's POV , because I don't know them as well as the others. Bringing in good characters then dumping them aside is something I hate, so that's why I've chosen a cast from a limited number of movies, and why I left District 9's tributes a blank (I hate killing people pointlessly – oops, did I say that out loud?). However, whoever I bring in, I do have an AU backstory, but it may not have a place in the storyline. But I did think about it. **

**ElvisRules41: Katniss can be annoying, but she can be sympathized with. It has to be admitted why half the time she is deranged is because of what the games did to her. Hope you liked this chapter!**

**FrozenOncer: Thanks! The biggest issue I've had with many Big 4/6 Fics is the lack of acknowledgement of other great films. But however, I placed the limit of post 2010 because if not there would be way too many films to cover. **

**That's all for now. My next chapter is hopefully this week before I go off on vacation. If not, you guys have to wait till mid-december for my next update.**

**Review! Critique! Ask Questions!**


	9. Chapter 8: Trial and Judgment

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 8: Trial and Judgment

* * *

><p><strong>Training Centre<strong>

'_Stop fidgeting.'_

'_I'm not fidgeting.'_

'_Yes, you are. Look at your hands.'_

'_Well, I'm looking at my hands and - fine, fine. Yes! I'm fidgeting.'_

'_Then stop it, you moron!'_

'_If you think this is so easy, why don't you do it?'_

'_You are me, you idiot!'_

'_Oh wait… I'm talking to myself again aren't I?'_

Hiccup frowned. Why did he have a habit of doing this?

'_Because you're paranoid.'_

'_Actually, that makes no sense. Paranoid is described as having delusions and projections of personal conflict. Oh wait…'_

The announcement system read his name and he reluctantly got off his bottom. The District 4 boy stuck out his foot right in his walking path, and Hiccup found himself as stumbling slightly while others in the waiting area snigger at him. He huffed, rubbing the shoulder while glaring at the scarred boy for a moment, then joined followed the Peacekeepers to the judging room.

Today was the last day of training, and that meant the Gamemakers now granted each tribute a private audience with themselves and the tribute attempted to impress them with their skills. The Gamemakers then accordingly gave them points based on how well they thought the tribute would fare in the Games. Hiccup knew that by now it was probably too late to grab sponsors, but if he could knock the Gamemakers' off their feet somehow with his 'special' skills, they might drop an item or two in the Games for his benefit. After all, the more interesting the skill, the more entertaining the programme.

The judging room was very much the same as the Training Centre; sure it was much smaller in size, but the contents were much the same; paints, training dummy, assorted sharp, extremely dangerous weapons that he could never use, and so forth.

He shuffled unwillingly to the Gamemakers' loft. Most of them were helping themselves to a spread of buffet, but when they saw him, they all stopped in curiosity. Gamemakers usually thought highly of the Career Districts, and since he was such a huge contrast to the stereotypes, he obviously garnered attention, though not in a flattering way.

"Hiccup Haddock, District 2," the chilling voice that read out his name almost made him jump out of his skin. Searching the swarm of Gamemakers, he found a pale-skinned gentleman garbed entirely in black robes standing before him. Scrutinising the boy with his dark yellow eyes, he added scornfully, " Son of Stoick the Vast?"

Hiccup groaned internally. Why did these people have to know his father? He supposed it couldn't be helped. His father was not only the mayor of the richest district of Panem, he was also a prominent and respected victor. His title 'the Vast' paid tribute to his gigantic figure and monstrous strength. Gamemakers, being themselves, certainly would know he was when they were staring at that great man's son – rephrase, _squinting_ at that great man's _very small_ son.

"That's me." It was more of a confession than an actual statement.

The Head Gamemaker – Hiccup vaguely remembered his name was something-Black – only raised a brow at him. "You have ten minutes to show your chosen skill." With that spoken, the man dropped back into a black chair near the back of the loft, which looked vaguely like a throne of sorts.

Hiccup watched as the numbers on the timer on the wall starter running. And then he did too.

He flew to the survivals racks, grabbing ropes, twine, metal wire, wooden sticks, and so forth. The only thing he took from the weapons rack was a small dagger. He had considered taking the arrows, as Hiro had suggested three days ago, but he decided to pass on it instead – in the real games, he wouldn't be able to get near any of those. Each time he took an item, he threw it on the floor, then went to get something else. The Gamemakers, who had been chatting merrily amongst themselves, paused to watch him in interest.

With everything he needed on the ground, Hiccup got to his knees and started to build the contraption based on the blueprints he had memorized the night before. He supposed he could do this on a table, but in the Games, he wouldn't find a table. Actually, finding a table in the Cornucopia would be an interesting concept to postulate about, but he was busy at the moment.

He bound the necessary poles together, then moved to hammering his hand-crafted wooden nails in the holes he had drilled manually with his knife. It wasn't easy, but Hiccup was fortunate that his father had been very fond of wood-craving, and the last few days he had been practicing desperately at the wood-cutting section as if his life depended on it.

Oh wait. It did.

When he finished his work, only seven minutes were over. He exhaled in relief, before lifting his wooden contraption to his shoulder. Thanks to the lack of metal, it was pretty light-weight and the design was such that he could rest most of the weight on his shoulder, freeing up his arms to do actual aiming. However, it was still fairly large, so he had to spend some time balancing it, even hoping from foot to foot to get it right. In this time, some Gamemakers got bored, and went back to stuffing their face. Hiccup felt a bit jarred at that, but he removed himself from the insecurity.

"So," he cheerfully squeaked to the uninterested judges, "I made this hand-held catapult." He tried to gesture at the object, then realized if he did, the whole contraption would tip over. After an awkward moment of gaping contemplation, he continued, "What I do is choose an object to load onto it – which in this case are bolas that I have created with a pair of dense log pieces – anyway," he hurried on, noting that some of the Gamemakers were yawning, "all I have to do is aim at a chosen object,"- he spun around to one of the human dummies, "fire!" He squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He tugged on it again, muttering to himself, "C'mon!"

He glanced behind as he toggled the trigger buttons, noting dismally that some Gamemakers were looking annoyed, while more went to join the feasting.

Then suddenly, there was a 'click' and a 'whoosh' as the bolas came flying into the air. Unfortunately, because he had turned his whole self at that moment, the bolas went flying straight to the Gamemakers' loft, whipped around a bunch of Gamemakers in ropes. There was screams as several of the Capitol citizen tumbled over each other, some even landing in the food.

Well, looks like he really did knock them off their feet.

Hiccup winced. "Sorry," he called out, uneasily. His eyes flitted briefly to the Head Gamemaker, who was still rather removed from the chaos ensued. His expression was cold, but interested.

Not wanting to face the angry judges, Hiccup allowed his invention to clatter to floor as he ran out of the room.

The minute he was out, his mind started berating himself.

'_Now, Hiccup, where did you go wrong?'_

'_I showed up?'_

_Besides the obvious._

'_I talked to the judges?' _He smacked his forehead. He couldn't believe he actually did that – no one ever talked to the judges.

'_And that.'_

'_I shot them?' _

'_And that.'_

His paced slowed as he finally grasped his biggest mistake of all. He groaned, dragging his palm down his face, then allowed both his hands grab at his neckas he chokingly replied to himself, '_I dismissed myself. Without asking for permission.'_

'_Clever boy.'_ The dry voice in his head mocked him. '_Now, let's hope that that when they bury you, they'll give you a small enough coffin so that your bones won't rattle when they carry it, eh?'_

'_Go and die.'_

'_Well, since I am you, that would happen soon enough._

Hiccup told himself to shut up after that.

* * *

><p>Merida was really irritated. They were carousing, drinking and pigging their eyes out when she was struggling to build an impression. Her blood was already boiling when she snatched the bow of the rack. Larks' alive! Her life depended on them putting a friggin' bow in the arena, but no, she wasn't interest enough to watch.<p>

The bow. Her hands curled loving around the grip between the steel limbs, and while her other hand pulled back the string, allowing herself to feel the tension resound into her own self. She then picked up an arrow, running her finger through the feathers. She chose a target, set the bow in place. Drawing herself up straight, she held her breath as she drew the arrow back, just till it brushed against her cheek. At that instant, the world became still, and all she could see what the black circle that marked the heart. Just as she exhaled, she let go.

The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning straight across the room, piercing its victim's centre.

With the energy and excitement, she couldn't stop. Grabbing a handful of arrows, she released them all, smiling broadly as she heard the satisfactory 'twack!' each time they hit their mark.

However, her joy faded when she spun back to the loft. The Gamemakers hadn't noticed what she had just done _at all_. Apparently, the stupid buffet was so much more absorbing that striking ten successive perfect marks.

She inhaled, her eyes focused on the happy little crowd. They seemed to be gathering a roast pig, complete with stuffing and even an apple in its dead jaw. Someone was heartily sharpening the knives, while others were giddily blabbering to each other. Her lips curled into a frown of disgust. The only one away from the feasting was the Head Gamemaker. His yellow eyes bore into her, daring her to be worthy of his attention.

Merida felt her fury evaporate into cool determination. Removing an arrow from the rack, she fit it into the bow. Drawing it back, her eyes guided her arms before she fired. Her whipped through the room, plunging itself through the apple, sticking it against the wall.

The room quaked with silence, as all the Gamemakers now turned to her. She made a quick scan of their faces; shock, anxiety, incredulity, outrage, and…admiration. The last emotion seemed strange on the countenance of the pale Head Gamemaker.

She was certain one of them would tell her off soon if she do something now, so she drew herself up straight, raising her chin to better project her voice, the way her mother taught her. "I'm Merida of Dunbroch. I never miss. Don't forget that."

Spinning abruptly on her heel, she sauntered out of the hall, confident that none of them would.

* * *

><p>Flynn had run through the game plan with her, but for the first time since she had thrown him off the train, she decided to disregard it.<p>

"You have ten minutes."

She had entered the waiting room with her hair down – literally, she dragged all 70 feet of unbraided cord through the halls and stacked in a neat pile while waiting. Many tributes gave her questioning looks, but eventually, as Flynn had said, they stopped after a while because they got bored. Flynn had also told her to go straight to abseiling wall, climb up it, then leave. She didn't need the Gamemakers' approval; her 'weapon' was technically part of herself, so any provision on their part would be useless to her. She didn't need more sponsors; Flynn had already sealed the deal with Coronas. In a matter of fact, Flynn wanted her to hide abilities, if anything at all. That was he had told her yesterday night, when he came to do 'sort-of-a-apology'.

She felt that he didn't understand. She needed to know for herself.

Instead, she now strode through the judging hall over to the simulation battlefield, with her trail of gold following her head. Setting up the program, she paused to choose a weapon before entering – just in case. She settled a small metal baton, slinging it by her side as she slid into the glass doors.

Her surroundings whirred, and the virtual opponents surrounded her. She slowly scanned around her, waiting for the first sign of threat. Her hands she kept dangling by her waist, but noticeably she kept close to her hair.

The first blow was attempted by an attacker wielding an axe – an allusion to the District 2 girl, she realized, - and she avoided this blow by whipping a cord of hair at her when she was ten feet away, allowing her hair to wrap the girl's axe handle, whipping it from her hands and casting it aside. The attacker disappeared.

Another assailant bearing a long sword charged at her, but again, her thick locks coiled around sword and swordsman, and she flung them both away, as far from herself as possible.

Two attackers came forward, both at the same time. One bore a sword, another machetes – allusions to the twins, undoubtedly. She caught the sword-bearer's wais with a cord of hair, then swung him forcefully at his twin. Both assailants dissipated into yellow lights.

An archer appeared on scene, but just as the arrow got loaded, Rapunzel's hair twined around the upper limb of the bow, yanking it up, allowing the arrow to shoot the roof instead. She then tugged the bow out of the archer's hand. To her relief, this was sufficient to defeat the archer.

Two more warriors came at her with staffs in their hand, spinning and smack her. Once she was hit in the jaw, and suddenly she tasted blood in mouth. But instead she grit her teeth with determination. Both arms casting out new cords of hair, the golden locks eventually tangled up with the spinning staffs and her two attackers were suddenly weaponless. They too disappeared.

Suddenly, something fast shot past her head, missing it by inches, and she spun around, ready to take on whoever came her way. But then she recognized the weapon style too well.

Daggers – long daggers – came flying past her head, and only her speed allowed her to avoid them. The attacker had the advantage though; the knives were much too small for her to catch in time, and the attacker's hand were moving to fast for her catch it with her hair. She resorted to wrapping her hair around the attackers waist.

However, the attackers was too quick, and her knife-wielding hands just when to the golden cord, grabbing it, and slicing it off.

Rapunzel gasped as her golden hair slid from the attacker's waist to the ground . The virtual assailant hadn't really damaged it, but imagining it was bad enough to shake her.

Rapunzel had never had many things to call her own in her life. Everything in the orphanage had to be shared, and time and again, herself and other girls' were reminded that they were merely borrowing these items, and they had to return favors by doing seam work. True, she had Pascal, but she had never considered him a possession, but a friend. Having been abandoned at the doorsteps of the home when she was but an infant, she had no family, no name, no past to call her own. The only thing that defined her, that made her who she was her hair.

And this computer programmed dagger-wielding girl had dared to cut it.

Her brows narrowing, she charged forward, her hair flying behind her like a world-wind. The attacker still threw daggers, but she somehow dodged them all, letting nothing stop her from her wave of fury. When she was but five feet away, she released a cord of hair to wrap around the attacker's arm and dagger. The dagger was still pointing dangerously at her precious golden threads and her hair was wrapped too tight for her to rip the dagger away altogether. The attacker was struggling too, trying to raise her other arm to attack.

"Please don't," she found herself saying, as she launched the next cord at that girl's hand, but the girl managed to dodge that attack, throwing the knife at her with the free arm. Rapunzel felt the virtual blade sent the sensation of a graze to the side of her head, and she was acutely aware that meant more hair was cut now. Her lips pursed together as she grabbed a new cord of hair, casting at the assailant.

The assailant was moving fast though, and she couldn't grab hold of the free arm at all, finding instead a steady stream of knives flying her way.

"Please stop!" she yelled at the virtual person, but she knew that the programme wouldn't listen. She felt more simulated jabs and cuts as more of the daggers started hitting their target.

Seeing that she was crumbling, the attacker raised her arm higher, and twisting the hair around her wrapped hand, dragging Rapunzel closer to herself. A wave of panic swept over the girl as the attacker brought her closer and closer. Closing her arms, she decided to try one move trick.

Whipping the cords of her hair hard and fast at the girl, Rapunzel wrapped her hair around the girl, neutralizing her altogether with her hands in capable of movement. But what Rapunzel didn't understand was why the virtual attacker was still struggllnig so long her hair. Then she realized, a golden cord wrapped tight at the attacker's neck, restricting her breathing…

"No!" She screamed, rushing forward, but the attacker suddenly, stopped moving, then it dissolved, and her golden hair felt harmless to the ground.

She panted, her eyes unblinking she tried to comprehend what she just did.

She didn't just kill a person. She _strangled_ her – it, whatever.

She felt bile rising up her throat, and she covered her mouth to hide her quivering lips.

She heard a slow clap behind her, but she couldn't look up. Then - "Your time is up. You are free to go."

She stumbled out off the judging hall, herself whirling with emotion, while the stream of gold followed her head.

She wanted to know if she could do it, and now, she knew.

* * *

><p><strong>District 10 Living Quarters<strong>

"What are the scores so far?" He asked her when he slid into the arm, licking dripping ice-cream from his cone as he did. The judging sessions today had been a rather black spot for today, and he was glad it was finally over. The scores were coming out of television now, and to be honest, he wasn't looking forward to watching it.

"The guy and girl from District 1 have gotten ten and nine respectively," Tooth told him, leaning back while she played with her necklace – her token, which was a jeweled pendant shaped like a tooth, attached to a silver chain.

Jack sucked another mouthful of ice-cream as he watched the announcer bring up the scores for District 2. While he tried to keep his association with them a limit, he had a nagging desire to keep tabs on the Careers.

As he expected, the axe-wielding girl from the Peacekeeping District scored a ten out of twelve. What he didn't, was that the small boy from District 2 - the one that he never saw with the Careers – nabbed a nine, just one point less than his muscular counterpart. He gave a low whistle of amusement. He couldn't imagine what the boy could do, but one could never tell with Career Districts.

The tributes in District 3 both obtained decent scores – seven for both. The District 4 girl had a rather low score of six, but the boy received a nine, which was usual for a Career.

The biggest surprise was District 5 – well, not the male tribute, who received a dismal four, but the female, who snagged an eleven! Jack's eye widened as he tried to recall the number of eleven scorers he had seen over the years, but he couldn't.

"The poor girl," he heard Toothiana sigh.

He raised a brow at her in surprise. "Why's that?"

Toothiana explain, "With such a high score and not being a Career, they've essentially painted a target on her back." She returned her gaze to the television screen, where the green-skinned presenter was still reading off the list, her expression dark. "Out of jealously, they'd take out the most powerful player first."

Jack could only nod, dumbfounded at the Tooth's bleak analysis. Taking a bite out of the biscuit cone, he suddenly felt much better about his anticipated score.

These were strange games; with most tributes averaging around six, unlike the usual score of five in other games. With his ice-cream finished, Jack requested the nearby Avox to bring more and proceeded to stuff himself with a new tub of choco-mint. By Tooth's count, the only ones that stood out so far were by the boy of District 6 and the long-haired girl of District 8, who both earned a nine.

District 10 was coming up now, and their mentors had joined them in the living room. North was visibly grim, his back hunched over while his large elbows rested on his knees. Bunnymund was considerably nervous, tapping his foot constantly and occasionally shooting glances at his brunette mentee. Having finished the tub pre-maturely, Jack hugged the empty, sticky cylinder, bracing himself for the news.

Tooth's score appeared first; a startling _nine_.

North hollered in glorious victory, thumping his mentee's back joyfully, causing the girl to cringe upon contact. Even Bunnymund gave her a thumbs-up. Jack sent her congratulatory grin, but he couldn't hide his astonishment. Tooth was such a sweet and gentle girl that it hardly seemed possible that she couldn't impress a bunch of violence-loving Gamemakers. Could it be that there was a killer behind that kindly face? One thing for sure; he had certainly underestimated her.

Then his score came on, and the liveliness died.

"A _four_?" Bunnymund gawked, his eyes bulging out his sockets. The usually burly, fierce man looked like he was going to faint.

Tooth's frantic eyes searched him for answers. "Jack… I don't understand."

North made a string of curses so rapidly that they sounded like a different tongue all together, while his own mentor was muttering something under his breath.

"Guys, chill, it's no big deal," the browned-haired boy tried to calm the distressed team.

Bunnymund must have noticed the lack of shock in the boy, because he switched back to his fearsome self in milliseconds. Snarling like a tiger, he demanded, "Boy, what did you do in there?"

"Calm down, Bunny." He drew back when his mentor growled unappreciatingly at the nickname. Gazing at the questions expression of the gang surrounding him, he sighed before starting to explain. "I did the simulation; the same one that I did with Tooth on the first training day."

"But you did well in that one," Tooth responded, not comprehending.

"I…" he bit his lips as he contemplated on how to phrase his answer. "I did _one_ thing different."

"Well, mate, pray enlighten us," his mentor inquired between clenched teeth. The man looked ready to tear his grey hair out, or tear in his mentee's throat.

Jack stiffened, before replying, "I didn't kill the virtual archer, so the archer killed me."

Collective groans resounded around the living room. North just stared at him pityingly, as if wondering what kind of idiot he could be. Tooth cocked her head to one side, as if struggling to understand him. Only Bunnymund's reaction was of any entertainment; Jack watched with humorous amusement that the tattooed mentor now raised his hands to the air, beseeching 'why me?' to the heavens. The brown-haired boy chortled, coughing to cover it up; it appeared he wasn't the only one who experienced frustrations in their interactions.

He rose to his feet, handing the ice-cream tub to the Avox before leaving the trio in the living room.

"Crikey, what would the sponsors think?" He heard his mentor groan behind him.

"Bah! Don't you worry about them sponsors, Bunny," North replied in attempts to comfort. "They still like his pretty face."

Jack shivered. It made it sound as if 'they' wanted cut off his face and put it in a jar of preservatives or something.

His mentor snapped, "Don't call me Bunny," and by then the rest of the conversation was out of his hearing range.

When he arrived to his room, he slammed the door shut. Climbing onto his bed, he lay back, though he wasn't really that tired. Staring at that ceiling, he grinned to himself. Hopefully, when the Careers saw his scores, they would stop trying to get an alliance. Maybe they'll put down his little show on the first training day as a fluke, then leave him alone. Maybe he could try again, and maybe make an alliance with _her_ -

He then cursed himself for not staying for the rest of the scores, but even then, he was too comfortable here to move. Still, he wondered what score she got.

Then a thought hit him, and he swore. Would she want an ally with such a low score? He sincerely hoped that hers wasn't too high either.

* * *

><p><strong>District 12 Living Quarters<strong>

Two.

She had deserved it, she supposed but that didn't make it any less painful.

There was a knock on the door. "Elsa? I know you're in there."

The same words, but the speaker was entirely different.

Like before, she didn't answer, and like before, the speaker entered without permission.

She was glad he left the lights out– she couldn't hide the frost from him. Taking a seat on the ground, but still keeping a distance, he offered a bowl in the dark. "Chocolate?"

"No thanks," she hoarsely replied, but after a moment, she took handful of the brown stuff anyway. Still reserved as ever, she popped a piece into her mouth, sucking and chewing, then swallowing, before taking another. She was distressed, but still ladylike not to stuff her face the way Anna would.

They sat there together in the dark silence, eating chocolate.

"Did you turn on the heating?" Hans asked softly, as if ashamed of breaking the quiet. "Because it's freezing in here."

"Nope," Elsa answered, too tired to worry if he suspected anything. The ice beneath her feet was growing surely, but still slowly. She helped herself to another piece of chocolate.

From the stream of light that shone from the door gap, she noticed that he wrapped himself more tightly in the green poncho that he wore over his shoulders.

"What your score?" She asked dully, trying to drown her insecurity into the sweet brown sugariness.

"Eight, which is apparently pretty average during these games," he replied, digging his palms under the large shawl.

She bit off another piece. She could imagine Anna watching her jealously, while declaring knowingly that she was going to get fat with all that stress eating. She wondered what redheaded sister though her own score. Attempting to distract herself from her depressing thoughts, she inquired of him, "What did you do? During the judging."

"Did sword-fighting a simulation. Didn't die, but didn't win either," he answered. Glancing over at her, he asked nonchalantly, "You?"

She froze. Not literally, but it might as well been. The painful memory of this afternoon came running back through her head, and a stray tear ran down her cheek.

Hans must have noticed how terse she was, because he had added gently, "You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to-"

"It's okay." Perhaps it wasn't wise to confide in a potential competitor, but Elsa felt an aching need to tell in someone, someone close. If you could tell things to your sister, it couldn't be that much different to tell her boyfriend, right? She forced herself to take deep breath before she told him, "I didn't do anything."

"What do you mean?" She could hear his confusion.

"I just sat there, staring at them, just frightened out my wits," the words were gushing out like river, even though she bit her tongue. "I was afraid that if I did anything, I'd just end up panicking and -"

She heard a familiar crack, and peered at her feet. Her circle of ice had grown considerably larger, and was getting dangerously close to Hans. She opted to bury her face her arms, hoping Hans would dismiss her unfinished sentence.

"It happens even to the best of us," his voice was soothing and comforting. "And honestly, getting a 'two' for not doing anything? That's actually really good."

She noted that his hand reached out to her and instinctively to she recoiled. His hand stopped mid-air, before dropping back to his side.

She felt a pang of guilt, and at that point of time, she couldn't hold it in as she usually did. "Sorry," she added, then bit her lip. That was an Anna move she just pulled.

She saw the outline of Hans shrug. "It's fine. I have twelve older brothers, and all of them demand personal space all the time, which is really hard to do in a small house -"

"Wait," she cut him off incredulously, "_twelve_?"

"We have a baker's dozen at home." He tried to sound cheery, but Elsa sensed the underlying resentment.

"Wow." She hooked a loose strand behind her ear, trying to overcome the tension. "Anna never told me that." The truth, of course, was that she never spoke to Anna about Hans at all, if she could help it.

"Well, it isn't a pretty story to tell," Hans remarked wryly, with a bitter laugh. Elsa could almost see the scowl in the darkness. "They pretty much ignored me for most of my life." There was pause before he continued. "None of them even came to say goodbye. Before getting on the trains, you know. Anna was my only visitor."

Elsa was startled. She turned to face the redheaded boy by her side, to find that he was already staring in her direction.

"You're very lucky, you know," he told her, and she detected a wistful note to his words. "To have a family that loves you. Anna talks a lot about you."

"She does?" There was another surprise.

"She adores you, and I can completely understand that." Hans threw another one of his comforting smiles. In a graver voice, he said, "She really wants you home."

Elsa felt a renewed turmoil bubbling up her, as the storm within her soul came a-brewing once more. "Well, I ruined whatever rep I had built on opening night today," she replied, turning away. It was wasted, especially since the crowds seemed to like her so much.

"I'll think of something," Hans promised. Elsa frowned at him skeptically, but as usual, he seemed sincere. But even if he was, it didn't mean anything. There was nothing that Hans could do to give her a better training score. There was nothing he could do to bring her home.

He took from her sigh that she was exhausted, so he bade her goodnight. However, before he left, he removed the poncho from his shoulder, and draped it around her. "Keep warm, Elsa."

Elsa didn't know it, but she was tired from all the insecurity and worry, so she fell asleep in that corner, with the green shawl as her blanket, her fingers wrapped around the crocus token.

**S/N:**

**I don't know if Hiccup would really talk to himself like that, but it was so much fun to write, I just did it anyway.**

**I didn't like this chapter that much, so it wasn't so fun to write, except maybe Hiccup's and Elsa's POV, because those ones came out more smoothly. I'm really looking forward to interviews actually. Soo…Who do you think should be the 'Caesar Flickerman' of this universe? I'm have some ideas, but I don't like them that much. Give your thoughts!**

**Up next: Interviews prep! (no, not interviews yet) And new POVs!**

**"_The Tales of Flynnigan Rider…"_**

**"_Five? Only Five! They promised at least twelve!"_**

**I'm looking forward to writing this chapter actually. I've been planning some of this long long ago.**

**A/N:**

**I've officially changed this fic to T instead for violence. The language will still be largely K+ though.**

**Thanks for the wonderful reviews people! Especially those of you who have been following regularly.**

**By the way, I've never really explained this, but S/Ns are meant for people who are more interested in story content, while A/N meant for people interested in admin matters (i.e. when is the next update) etc. So people who just what to read the story stuff can skip A/Ns.**

**I have just realized how pointless the above paragraph is to people who just skip these all together…Oh well.**

**Mailbox:**

**Meganqueen1: Don't sweat about it. At least you worked out that it meant something.**

**Guest: Yes, the hunger games are scary, but if it eases your worries, see the Author's note of the first chapter, and maybe you won't feel that awful.**

**NaomilovesJelsa: Ah, another Jelsa fan. As mentioned in the previous A/Ns, the shippings are largely canon stuff, Hiccup/Astrid and Eugene/Rapunzel. Jelsa is likely though not confirmed, but I can confirm that they will have a strong connection throughout the whole thing.**  
><strong>But no promises, just in case I decide to make this a Helsa fic (Now I'll wait for you to jump a cliff, then I'll tell your lifeless body "I was kidding! Well, maybe." - sorry, that was dramatic)<strong>

**DauntlessDemigod: Nice name, by the way. I'm glad you've been liking the story, and hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Sharp of you to notice the parallels of Hiccup/Astrid with the original THG, but along the way (of this story), more parallels will be popping up.**

**Awsomaniatica: Flynn is smart, but I would say that it is more than logic that drives how he treats Rapunzel, but then…I know something you don't (or maybe you know it, and I just kid myself), but Rapunzel went to experiment herself and got burnt. Hiccup and Hiro before have egnormous experiences with pain, but very different kinds of pain, which is why they deal with them differently, but yes. Feel bad for them, but don't worry. They'll get over it.**

**ElvisRules41: I'm glad you thought it was a plot twist, 'coz I didn't see it that way (but I'm the author, so I know all… go and see Big Hero 6, or just when it's convenient. It's a good film, with dark themes, but good.**

**I will hopefully update once more before leaving for vacation, but no promises.**

**Review! Critque! Ask Questions!**


	10. Chapter 9: Secrets, TV and Broken Tables

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 9: Secrets, TV and Broken Tables

* * *

><p>"Are you a fool, Pitch?"<p>

The Head Gamemaker leaned back in his ebony marble chair, his hands resting against his chest and his fingers pressed against one another to form a diamond shape. It was a gesture he commonly adopted every time he engaged in conversation with the President, especially when the latter irritated him.

"With all due respect, Mr. President, the girl deserved that score. She was a perfect shot."

"Yes." The old president glared at him through the projector. "A perfect shot at your heads."

"She never meant to kill. Not yet, anyway," Pitch mused the last part quietly to himself.

"You know well what's happening in District 5, Pitch. You reward such behavior then-"

"-then nothing, sir," Pitch interrupted, quite deliberately contemptuous. "Neither the girl nor the Gamemakers can disclose the happenings. There is nothing the rebels can from it." Had he performed something as such in public, there would be no option for Lotso but to have him executed at once. However, in private quarters, Pitch was well aware that his actual worth more than compensated for his lack of respect towards his Command-in-Chief.

The president narrowed his brows, but Pitch could see that he knew that the Gamemaker was right. "Well, as far as you're concerned, Pitch, there had better not be any more favors for impulsive girls - or clumsy boys."

The holographic projector flickered off as the President's face disappeared from the walls. Pitch gazed down at the papers he had before himself, gathering them up and sliding them into their respective files; Haddock, and Dunbroch.

There was a rap on the door, and he said, "Enter."

An avox entered, bearing a tray of documents, and he held it out to the Head Gamemaker.

"Thank you," Pitch murmured as he removed the papers, "but is there anything else?"

The avox peered cautiously out of the door, before shutting it carefully behind. Turning to Pitch, he made some gestures with his hands.

The Gamemaker nodded to show he understood. "Excellent." He noted the disturbed countenance of the golden-haired avox. "Don't worry, you git, you won't get punished for this. I have no interest in torturing someone who can hardly scream. Now," he waved at the door, "get out."

The avox took a deep bow before leaving, leaving Pitch alone with the paperwork.

Flitting his hand from both new files, he eventually settled on the 'Arendelle' file first. Slitting open the envelope, he nodded as he processed the text. Yes, the District 12 girl was a splitting image of her late mother - that's how he had recognized her - and yet carried the regal mannerism of her father. Interestingly, her health report mirrored neither that of her parents; her body temperature has always been consistently lower than the healthy average, yet she appeared well. Another curious point was that her habits of wearing gloves seemed to stem from some childhood illness plaguing her, - or he wondered, some childhood trauma.

He quickly lost his interest at the end of the file, so he proceeded to next girl. As he had noticed earlier, it was curious that the District 8 girl had no family name. Every child of every district have always been carefully documented, as such was essential for the reapings, but Rapunzel's file was surprisingly thin, even for an orphan. A few school reports revealed that her name had always been single-worded. The only interesting piece in the whole accursed file was that her medical reports always kept track of her hair length.

At the back of the health book, there was a small card clipped to it, which Pitch carefully removed. The doctor's small handwriting was difficult to decipher, but the Head Gamemaker could read it well enough. Then something that had long ago hidden at the back of his head resurfaced.

He swore fervidly. In his rage, he picked up his marble desk and flung it against the wall. Shrieking curses at the top of his lungs, he growled in frustration as his mind taunted him of what he already knew.

The door creaked open and the sand-haired avox peered through, his usually passive face expressing surprise at the outraged Head Gamemaker and the cracked table.

The pale-man collected himself, resuming the calm demeanor he usually bore. "Clear this mess, and straighten out the files," he ordered the mute servant. The younger man immediately went for the debris, expressionless as he swept up the broken shards and stones.

Pitch straightened his coat, his face as terrible as thunder. "Subordinates," he snarled bitingly, "can't trust them to do anything."

He marched out of his office, determined to right this. But while Pitch Black was a powerful man, there were well many things that were out of his control.

* * *

><p><strong>The Lucky Cat Bar<strong>

Her birth name was Leiko, but everyone called her Gogo Tomago. Or just Gogo, when she was amongst friends.

First was because her primary sponsor, Fred, had promoted her as such during and after the Games. Secondly, after she was crowned the 73rd Victor of the Hunger Games, her adopted 'talent' – a pointless official occupation or hobbie that apparently every victor had to have - was racing. It could be on skates, or a bike, or a car; she was only seventeen at that time, but she already earned her notoriety as the fast-loving adrenaline junkie of the technological district.

She had also the reputation of taking herself rather seriously, not talking much, and being especially harsh on members of the opposite sex.

That was why the gentleman – in her vocabulary, the _sad cad _– standing by her right was very close to be pummeled with the glass base of the soda in her hand, or if she was merciless, pummeled by the sharpness of her tongue.

"Hey, that violet streak's comin' on real good. Really fits your eye colour," he was saying to her, leaning back on the bar table, giving her what was supposed to be a dashing grin.

She slurped noisily through the straw, completely unamused.

The brown-haired idiot before her seemed uneasy by her bored reaction, but he brushed it off, remarking, "You know, they call me fast-" he gestured arrogantly at himself "-and you love fast, so you and I should-"

"-grab some fast-food fast-idiously together?" She interrupted coolly, returning to sucking the soda from the straw, crossing her legs while balancing herself on the barstool. She watched on boredly, unchanged as confidence ebbed away from the moron.

He sighed, rolling his hair back, muttering to himself. "Hey," he told her now, the false come-hither manner turning serious, "I'm just trying to make a connection here, but you're not helping."

In reply to that, she slammed her empty glass on to the marble bar table, causing everyone in the bar to turn and stare at both of them. The older guy was now feeling increasing uncomfortable with her manners, goggling at her as she calmly removed an aluminum packet from her waist pocket, unpeeling a fresh slice of bubblegum and popping into her mouth.

"Rider, right?" She said between chewing teeth, her garbled words echoing in the quiet joint.

"Yep," he admitted nervously, recoiling as if afraid of some imminent attack – which was not unreasonable, considering Gogo's reputation.

She went on chewing ominously, every crunch and splat sending shivers down the man's spine, piercing him with her black eyes. Finally, she said, "One, you're too under-qualified – academically, at least. Two, you're too fickle. So," she shook her head, "no."

With that, the other customers of the bar lost their interest in the matter, while Gogo blew herself a bubble through the gum. Rider was really ill at ease, but finally he gave up. Retrieving a thin slip of paper from his coat vest pocket, he slid it to her defeatedly. "My number, if you ever change your mind."

Gogo narrowed her eyes to slit at him, but she still took the paper. Doing a two-finger salute at her, the man finally left.

With that, her bubble burst, and she sucked the gum back, chewing all over again while reading the slip cautiously.

* * *

><p><strong>District 12 Living Quarter<strong>

"_Don't let them in, don't let them see, don't let them_- oh, hello Pabbie."

The venerable grey-headed elder stood met her at the office table. There, he made himself comfortable in the fur-covered armchair across the blonde girl.

"I supposed you're here to help me with the interviews tomorrow, aren't you?" she asked, unconsciously twisting her gloved hands together. She settled herself down in an armchair as well.

"That is what I'm supposed to do now, but I don't think that's what's important now." He gazed at her with kindly but worried eyes. "Elsa, I think we should talk about you."

"M-me?" She stuttered, and she felt like kicking herself. Once again, another Anna move. She never stuttered, never apologized. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes as she allowed herself to inhale slowly. She supposed this conversation would have to come eventually.

She peered down at the gloves in her hands. "I've been trying to keep it under wraps. You know I have," – Pabbie nodded encouragingly –"but it's been getting harder." She pressed her hands against herself, bending over, as if trying to shield herself from the world, or maybe, the world _from herself_.

Pabbie shook his head. "You're abilities are an issue, Elsa, but they are nowhere is an important as something else."

She tilted her head in askance. "I don't understand…"

Pabbie gazed straight in her eyes. "Fear, Elsa."

"I'm not afraid," she declared, even sounding haughty, but her darting eyes betrayed her.

He obviously didn't believe her words. "Everyone is afraid, Elsa. The only difference is what you fear, and more importantly, what you do about it." He rose from his seat, going straight to hers. She shifted back uneasily, her eyes downcast.

"Elsa, you fear for your sister, don't you?" The question raised her head.

Her throat was dry, but she could answer, "At the reapings, yes. And,"- she turned shamefully away again, - "every other part of my life."

"And all for the noblest of intentions," he assured her, as his firm hands rested soothingly on her shoulder. She seemed like she would flinch, but Pabbie went on. "A little fear is good, Elsa – it remind us of what's important to us, and gives us strength to do fight for it. But never, Elsa," one of his hands gestured down her gloved ones, "let fear stop you from doing what you need to do."

"Even if it means I hurt someone?" She asked before she could stop herself, then bit her lip. This was the Hunger Games – not hurting someone was taboo here.

"Especially if it means hurting someone, Elsa," he told her firmly. "Remember, there are many ways to hurt people."

His words brought her to painful memories of long ago. It was just a week after the 'accident'. Anna's concussion was great enough that she didn't remember anything, and Pabbie's 'treatment' ensured that she never would. The white lock against the redhead remained an accusing reminder of her mistakes, and she had, as much as possible, reduced her contact with her sister. It was subtle things; like offering to go shop for groceries just when Anna asked her out to play, or refusing to go parties under the guise of doing homework. Her sister had never questioned her actions – well, not that often, at least – but Elsa could never forget the crushed expression on the usually freckled, optimistic face, as Elsa shut yet another door behind her.

The girl swallowed. "I'll try, Pabbie."

"Good, now," he returned to his seat. "We need to decide on your angle for the interview…"

* * *

><p><strong>District 11 Living Quarters<strong>

"S-U-G-A-R,  
>jump into your racing car!<br>It's a Sugar Rush!"  
><em>Clap, clap!<em>  
>"Sugar Rush!"<br>_Clap, clap!__  
><em>"S-U-G-A-R,  
>jump into your racing car!<br>It's a Sugar Rush!"  
><em>Clap, clap!<em>  
>"Sugar Rush!"<p>

The monster-sized boy had to plug his ears stop the terrible noise she called singing from bursting his ear-drum. "Kid, what is your problem!" He demanded over her terrible 'vocal expressions'.

"I wan'na play, and you're hoggin' the TV!"

"There are millions of TVs in this place!" Ralph cried, gesturing vaguely at behind them.

"Well, I want this one!" Vanellope insisted, lying in the seat next to him upside down, such that her legs were sticking up.

"Well, _I'm_ tryin' to watch TV here," he said, pushing her off the sofa. "So go away."

"Hey!"

Both their mentors weren't the responsible type, so today, Vanellope and himself were very much on their own in preparing for the interviews tomorrow night. He knew himself well enough that he wasn't the best stage person, so he was watching past records of interviews, trying to get a sense of how to portray himself as grim and intimidating. The pre-teen lolling around on the carpet was not helping.

Staring up from the ground, she drawled, "Why are you watching all this boring stuff?"

"Rep building. I need to pick an angle to promote myself," he explained irritably, fast-forwarding through the show, then dropping the remote by his side.

"That's easy." The girl rolled over, got up and purposely hopped in front of the television screen. "Now, say after me." She pointed at herself.

Ralph huffed in annoyance, glancing up and around her to try to watch the show

"Hey! I have the remote!" The girl raised the device threateningly overhead.

"How-" Ralph searched around him, before slumping back in defeat.

"Now, say after me," the girl tapped herself proudly. She spread her legs apart, holding two bent arms under-shoulder, before saying in a deep voice, "I'm gon'na wreck-it!"

Ralph raised his eyebrow. "Wreck what?"

Vanellope frowned. "Don't ask so many question. Taglines aren't suppose to mean anything."

"Oh, yeah?" The boy glared, folding his arms. "What's your tagline?"

"_Sweet mother of monkey milk!_ You don't know my tagline? I'm so misunderstood. " The girl made a melodramatic sigh, causing Ralph to pull a face of disgust. "Now, listen' 'ere, Stinkbrain." Her tone suddenly became business-like. "Do you wan'na be as popular as that 'ice girl' from District 12 or not?"

"What that got to do with you?" He grumbled, dejectedly glancing down at his overalls. He wasn't the sociable type, nor was he particularly good with people. He was going to mess up the interviews, whether he liked it or not.

"You want it, or not?" The girl repeated exasperatedly. She obviously didn't believe the same things he did.

"Yes! I want it!" Ralph yelled exasperatedly at the irritating little imp

The girl shouted back, "Good!"

"Fine!"

"Now keep that volume!"

He barked, "Then what!"

"Say after me!" She shrieked, doing the 'mighty-gorilla' pose again. "I'm gon'na wreck it!"

He got to his feet and copied her. "I'm gon'na wreck it!"

"Louder! " Vanellope screamed. "Can't hear you!"

"_I'm gon'na wreck it!_" He growled as menacing as he could, even taking on a fearsome expression.

"Still not getting it!" The girl cried. "Can't you wrangle out those vocal cords in the fat-folds of your neck, you numbskull!"

"I'M GONNA WRECK IT!" He bellowed so loud that even the rafters shook. With a terrifying cry, he brought his hands down, crashing into the wooden coffee table, splitting it into splinters on the ground.

The small girl stood gaping at him for several seconds, her jaw hanging wide. Fearful that he had scared her into shock, he asked, concerned, "Hey, you okay?"

She still didn't move, except for her arms, which twitched a little. He waved his hand in front of her eyes, but they didn't even blink.

As suddenly as she had stopped, Vanellope bounced on her feet, cheering and clapping. "That was totally awesome! You should have seen yourself. You were fierce, bold," her voice dropped into a fascinated whisper, "and _absolutely terrifying_. Ralph, my man, you'll have the Capitol grub shaking in their boot – hey, what's you're staring at me like that?"

He didn't reply, but something in his face must have given him away, because the next second her face fell, her waving arms dropping.

"It happened, didn't it?"

He nodded, not knowing what to say.

Vanellope snorted, tucking her hands into a pocket, kicking away the wood piece near her feet. "How many times now?"

Ralph answered with much reluctance. "This would be the third since we left home." He hesitated, before saying, "Kid, do you wan'na see a doctor-"

"No!" That response was quick enough. Unconsciously, she drew up her green hoodie, over her head. "I'll be fine."

Ralph sighed. He supposed she was back to normal, but for how long? That couldn't be told. But he guessed that even a doctor couldn't help her at this point. They were all being driven to their graves, anyway.

"Now that we've got your stupid angle, can we play some games? I'm bored." She gave a yawn and rubbed her eyes, but the bigger boy could tell she was just covering up for the tear in her eye. "I found this thingy on the TV."

"Sure," he conceded willingly. Leaping over the broken the table, Vanellope grabbed the remote as she and Ralph set themselves down on the sofa.

"Great!" She was jumping and up down again, back to her bubbly, crazy self, and for that, Ralph smiled gladly. "It's this car racing game with _a lot _of saccharine."

As she hit the buttons, the program that Ralph was watching disappeared from the screen, replaced by a pink screen, sparkling cursive words and a hugely aggravating Japanese theme song.

Ralph groaned, as he covered his ears once again.

* * *

><p><strong>District 8 Living Quarters<strong>

When he arrived at the eighth floor, Flynn burst out the elevator, almost crying out it relief. The sun was already setting in the horizon, and outside had been terrifyingly cold. Still, that didn't stop him for sweating buckets. He wisely decided that he would add District 3's most recent victor on the 'No-Flirt' list, after all. She could frighten a corpse back to life, he was certain.

Most of the lights on the floor had been switched off for some time, so he wondered if everyone had already turned in. He had left for the bar rather late, since he could only go after running through the interview content and presentation with Rapunzel. The girl had rather been distracted lately, and Flynn had suspected more than not that it had something to do with the judging the previous day. Her score was high – _too_ high actually, but considering that she could still be mad at him for not pushing through the alliance, he had decided not to pry.

Passing through the dining hall, he found a lone avox still waiting at the table. Seeing him, the avox picked up a plate of donuts and handed it to him.

Glancing around to ensure that no one was nearby, he muttered to her, "Thank you."

The avox only remained impassively silent as ever, head bowed low.

He could hear a television playing some rooms away, so he headed there, with the plate tucked held by one hand, and with the other he began his teeth digging into the hot dough.

At the lounge, he recognized the blonde head resting against the sofa, with her seventy feet of hair loosely draped over other chairs, tables and rugs. On one of the armrest, his keen eyes caught the shape of a purple chameleon, curled up asleep. The girl herself was leaning back, relaxed against the velvet covers. The coffee cups on the table proved that she had tried to keep awake , but her eyes were shut and shallow breath showed that she had failed.

Flynn couldn't help but smile and shake his head. She was a stubborn little woman.

He supposed that he could have just left her sleeping there – the couch wasn't that uncomfortable – but it came to him automatically to drop the donuts, pick up her snoozing form and return her to her bedroom.

When he started dragging her off, he immediately regretted it. She had lain her hair _everywhere_, and tugging her out of the room just allowed the golden ropes to catch on the furniture, and he knew that something fragile would be bound to get broken sooner or later. Alternatively, the hair could have gotten tangled up in too much stuff, and all that yanking on her scalp would wake her up.

Grudgingly, he set her down in an armchair, muttering as he marched through the living room, gathering her hair bundle by bundle, unhooking it from strangest of places. He was surprised at how smooth and light it actually was; Rapunzel maintained it surprising well. Dropping them all into a neat pile, he picked the girl up again and this time managed to make a smooth exit as he took her back to her room. Slipping her under covers, he then went back to the lounge to retrieve the reminder of her hair, hauling it back to the room, then placing the pile not too far from her head.

He then returned to the living room again to get the girl's sleeping reptile, when he took a clearer look at the program that was running. He almost choked when he saw a familiar young boy - with bright brown eyes, high-cheek bones and an angular jaw - scampering through the jungle, boldly yelling taunts at his pursuers though he was really shaking in fear.

Flynn felt a sinking pit in his stomach as he flicked off the screen. It wasn't just that she now knew the truth – that he had allied with the Careers in his year, she'd bring that up tomorrow - but more importantly, he had been trying so hard to forget, and this unfortunate clip had brought back many great haunts. He still had very bad nightmares about those days – some nights he'd wake a sweating like a pig, barely able to stand without his knees turning to jelly. Something like what he was doing right now.

Dropping the dozing Pascal onto his best friend's pillow, Flynn quickly headed back to his own room. He was breathing too quickly now and that was especially unhelpful, especially since he was starting to see spots in his vision. He shook his head, struggling to focus as he dug through his luggage, desperately looking for the only thing that could drive the demons away.

Halfway through ripping his clothes out of the bag, he suddenly drew back when he found his hands running red. But with a firm shake of his head again, the red stains vanished. At the back of his head though, he could still hear piercing screams of both the innocent and the much less so; all whom he ended with the end of his blade. His breaths accelerated unhealthily.

He was trembling like a leaf when he finally drew out what he was seeking for; a flat, polished wooden box, with a small keypad on its front. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he filled the six-letter code, and gasped in relief when he removed the leather-bound book inside.

Flipping open the cover, his eyes gladly fell onto the words on the title page.

_The Tales of Flynnigan Rider._

For another two hours, he returned to innocent boyhood; when he still had dreams, and his hands were a lot cleaner.

* * *

><p><strong>District 3 Living Quarters<strong>

The technological district had no shortage of geniuses, but Honey Lemon was too humble to ever consider herself one. Certainly, she was greatly passionate in chemistry, and she enjoyed working in it, but a genius? That was reserved for only the best. Like the Hamada Brothers.

Being an expert in a field of science, however, didn't automatically mean that she was socially dense. For instance, at this very moment, she knew that Hiro had been deliberately started from the bottom of the list to avoid confrontation.

"-how she got that nine. She looks so petite! I'm not meaning that we're big-size either, but hey, we've got brains-"

"I talked to her once. She seemed nice," Honey added in, but she kept her eyes on the wiry boy instead of the scribbling.

"Okay, tentative then," he muttered in reply, scratching a question-mark next to the District 8 girl's name. "Now, the Stabbington kids? Too dense, too violent – probably non too bright either." He marked an 'X' at District 7. Biting the pencil for a second, he did the same for District 6. "The guy from there is way too creepy, and the girl's too spoilt. Alright, so what do you think of 5?"

Honey hesitated, glancing down at the slip. They were hitting pretty close already. Perhaps it was time. "Hiro-"

"The girl's a fighting type, so I'd doubt she'd do peaceful," the spiky-haired boy didn't wait for her answer. "The guy's super chill though – maybe he'll listen-"

"Hiro."

"-I guess I'll put him on 'tenta' too," Hiro rambled on, marking on the District 5 boy's name the way he marked on the District 8 girl, then stopped his pencil at the girl's name. Honey noted that for a brief moment, his eyes flickered up at the four districts on the top of the list. He then made a question mark on District 5 girl's name, then marked a huge cross on the first four districts.

"There!" He flung up his hands and stretched out. "All done! Ten people! Excluding present company, of course."

"Hiro," Honey pressed more firmly, " I think we need to talk-"

"Uh-huh?" Hiro murmured, as he dropped the list and returned to reverse-engineering the small camera on his table. Shoving a screwdriver over his ear, he used the thin pliers to dig out the wires from the device. "Sorry, hold this up for me, won't you?" he said, grabbing a flashlight and handing it to her.

Honey obligingly switched it on, shining it into the hole that Hiro working on in the camera. "We need to talk about Tadashi."

For a moment, the fourteen-year-old boy froze up. Sighing, he continued with his work, though his usual energy was gone. Plaintively, he replied, "Tadashi's gone, Honey."

"He isn't. Well, he is _physically_, but that's not the point." Honey watched the boy's sorrowful expression as he pried out the flash capacitor from the camera. "Hiro, you need to let go."

"I have," the boy protested, but his eyes didn't meet her when he said that. They were staring down at the band looped around his right arm.

Honey caressed his hair fondly, though wistfully shaking her head as she did. "No, you haven't," she contradicted.

"What's the point of this?" He snapped, drawing his head roughly from Honey's hand. His face was grim when he agitatedly started attacking the wires, slicing them up and soldering them to the soldering them to shutter button.

She tapped on the sheet."The District 2 boy, Hiccup. I think he should be on the list."

"He's a Career," Hiro responded shortly. Then he ended with a growl, "And he's from District _2_."

"He isn't the one who killed Tadashi," Honey defended. Her voice was soft, but resolute.

"Does it matter? They're all hard-core killers," the boy retorted heatedly. "They don't deserve to be saved."

Honey stared sorrowfully at him. "You know that isn't true-"

"- all the time, but in my defense, that District 2 girl really didn't." A familiar dry voice echoed down the corridor.

The tributes found themselves in the presence of the young bubble-gum-chewing victor. Her eyes were as hard as agates when glared down, though her anger was not at them. "I'm not proud about smacking down people, but I can take it," she told them, her voice acrid and cold. "However, Tadashi couldn't. He was too compassionate." She paused to breath, her hand rubbing her temple. "He had always wanted to help people. Look where _that_ got him."

She snorted a bitter laugh, wiping the stray tears from her eyes. Addressing Hiro, she said, "If you don't want to put this boy on the list, then don't. Besides, you've got to do some cutting to do. Pronto."

With that said, she handed the boy as slip. Before he opened it, Hiro hit one of the buttons on his armband, reading the numbers off it. "We're got thirty seconds."

Spreading out the slip of paper, he and Honey hunched over the table, reading it together. Gogo continued chewing on the gum, brushing back her black bangs as she allowed the news sink in for the two.

Hiro was the first to speak. "Five?" He gasped, grasping anxiously at his hair. "Only five?"

Honey was just as perplexed as he was."But they promised at least _twelve_."

"Obviously, they lied," Gogo said, dripping with cynicism. "To be fair, it wasn't as if we could save everybody."

Honey could see that Hiro was still costernate about the message, so she helped him gently back into his chair.

"Only five," he repeated breathlessly, his eyes still fixed on the new message. "How are we ever going to choose?"

Honey desperately tried to think of anything that could be of comfort, but she was a just chemist, not a problem-solver. "I don't know, Hiro."

"Well, you guys better get to it eventually," Gogo told them drily, but even Honey noticed her tough girl's weary expression. "I'll go and tell your useless mentor. Where is he, anyway?"

"Wasabi's working out the sponsor details with Fred," Honey informed her, but her eyes never left the boy.

Gogo rolled her eyes at the mention of the latter's name. "Why do we even work with that guy," she mumbled scornfully as she made her way out of the room, but not before crushing the slip she had given them, then flaming it with a lighter. The ashes, she chucked into the bin.

Hiro pressed the button on his armband again, then folded his arms and leaned back. Seeing how forlorn he looked, Honey Lemon wound her arms around Hiro's slumped form, taking him into a firm embrace. "It will be alright, Hiro," she said soothingly, patting his head. "There, there."

He didn't say anything, until in a biting tone, "The odds are never in our favor, are they?"

"They're never in anyone's favor," she morosely admitted to him, stroking his hair tenderly, "but the Capitol's." She wondered if this was exactly how Tadashi had felt when they placed him here; crumbling in despair, unwilling to accept the fact that so many had to die for himself to live. Few people gave him credit for such, but Hiro's empathy could easily match his brother's.

The black-haired boy picked up the list on the paper, his eyes running over all the names again. "Five," he murmured bitterly. "Just the odds of five."

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**Hope you liked the new POVs. Besides Elsa's POV, it's all supporting character POV today. If you like these characters, enjoy this chapter, because you may never get their POV again from here on.**

**A bit of backstory for Gogo and Flynn – what do you think?**

**Some things that may puzzle you: What's Pitch mad about? What's the matter with Vanellope? Flynn and Gogo - huh? What the hell is with 'the list'? Just to assure you it's part of the story, and will be answered in due time. Some of you may have already guessed what they mean.**

**Up next: Interviews! I'm so excited! It'll take about 2-3 chapters, because it's gonna be fun!**

_"**-Twirl for me-"**_

_"**-I'll make you proud, I promise-"**_

_"**-I'm sorry that I've only ever disappointed you-"**_

**and…**

_"**-winning won't help in my case."**_

_"**Why not?"**_

_"**Because she's here too…"**_

**But who? Stay tuned!**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Hey guys! This would be my last update till to mid-december. I'm flying off tonight. Hurray, but sorry guys.**

**Today's a kind of trademark day for me, because this story has just reached 50 reviews (Okay if you read the reviews properly, you'll realize it's not actually 50 reviews, but I don't care)! I'm so happy! In the words of Hiro, "I fail to see, how you fail to see, that this is awesome!"**

**Last chapter is also the highest number of reviews I have ever got for a chapter! Thank you guys so much your responses! **

**Mailbox: **

**AliceInNeverland95: Yay! The characters are still in character …so far. I'm glad that you didn't find my story too dramatic. I love drama a lot, something I'm afraid it'd impair the story. I love your account name – excellent combination of two highly-engrossing English classics. I wish I could use the Genie – he'd be so pumped and running as Caesar, but I placed the post-2010 limit on myself so…urgh… But yes, Genie would have been a wonderful addition here. Thanks for reviewing**

**Queen Elsa Frost of Arendelle: Hey again! Thank you! Hope you like this chappie (but I think I'm right in saying that next one would be better.)**

**NaomilovesJelsa: Thank you! Hope you didn't hurt anyone in that short moment. I'm glad you like the replies. I like them too.**

**DauntlessDemigod: Scores are but scores, my dear Dauntless. Okay, to be honest, one reason why I gave them such low scores is because I was tired of giving everyone high scores (if you think about it, all the characters are remarkably talented – most of them are main characters in their movies, c'mon - so it's actually really difficult to decide who's gets higher.) Keeping low scores however can also be a really good strategy. Come the games, the table will turn very rapidly. Thanks for reviewing, and have no fear; Hans will keep his share of the story.**

**Guest: Thank you! I did write this because most THG AU fics weren't meeting my expectations, and I really wanted a good ROTBTFD one. One good one (Beneath a Sanguine Moon by Solemini) there I've been reading only featured Rise of the Guardians characters and hasn't been updated recently. Yeah, sometimes I get frustrated at handling all the characters and the numerous subplots (this happened lots in Chapter 7-8), but it's worth it.**

**ElvisRules41: Yeah, it isn't a plot twist, but I'm still glad it surprised you. Initially, I was planning to give Hiccup a low score for the accident, but then I thought – if a guy could build a mini-catapult in seven minutes without metal, who wouldn't be impressed? Here, I made Pitch a somewhat 'fair' Head Gamemaker, so tada! Hiccup the Useless gets pretty good.**

**Awsomaniatica: Interviews are so exciting, right? Sorry they'll only come next month, but I hope this chapter serves as a good appetizer. Or maybe it'll just ruin your day with more questions…I dunno.**

**Anastasia 1234: That's really sweet! Thank you! I'm really glad you love this. I really am.**

**Guest/SmilingStarcat: Thank you! It's a bit difficult to keep remember what I've written and what I haven't sometimes, so I apologise if I do end up making any repetitions. Elsa's powers are going to play a huge deciding story here, and yes, I'm pulling a huge twist. I've been dropping hints every now and…I'll shut up now.**

**That's all for now. See you in aroundd two weeks people!**

**Review! Critique! Ask Questions!**


	11. Chapter 10: For Those We Love Part 1

The Guardian Games  
>Chapter 10: For Those We Love So Dearly Part 1<p>

* * *

><p>Theme music played merrily in the background.<p>

"Ladies and Gentlemen, good evening to you all! I'm Mike Wazowski, your master of ceremonies, and it is my pleasure and honour to welcome you to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

The Capitol streets were blocked up with spectators stands, all full of enthusiastic citizens, cheering and squealing their lungs outs.

"I'm sure all of you know how important and exciting these games are to all of us, such that even our revered President Lotso is gracing us with his presence tonight."

On cue, a spotlight fell onto the President's balcony as the venerable, sage gentlemen rose to greet his adoring subjects.

The presenter gave a wave in that direction before carrying on,"Tomorrow will be the games that we've dying for "- some sniggers in the crowds -"but first, I'm sure all of us are eager to learn more about this years' tributes. So who am I to keep you waiting? Ladies and Gentlemen, let that interviews begin!"

The crowds roared and pounded on tables as the theme music blared on, like a throng of cannibals, stamping and crowing for a kill.

* * *

><p>She couldn't tell if she wanted to die of mortification or anger.<p>

She decided that reacting according to the latter would serve her reputation better, so she stomped up to the boy huddled in the corner and kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" He squeaked, rubbing his leg and glaring up at her.

"Get up, you idiot!" She hissed at him in a low voice. Some of the tributes waiting behind them where laughing, and that only made her madder. "What are you thinking sitting down in the middle of the queue like that?" She wondered if he had lost his wits or something. It was obviously unseemly behavior for a member of such a powerful district to be cowering in a corner. Grabbing his shoulder harshly, she yanked him to his feet.

"Hey, I was just tired of standing in line. I didn't mean it to-" he cut himself off when as he scanned her from head to toe, gawking.

Astrid's eyes narrowed to slits, demanding, "What?"

"Er... y-you look d-different," he stammered. Noting that the crease in her brow deepened, he added quickly, "It's a good different!"

"How?" She demanded, but her expression softened somewhat.

"You look more like a girl." She glanced down at her tight-fitting turquoise gown, then raised her brow at him threatening. He recoiled instantly. "Not that I've ever doubted your femininity! Er, I mean, your _female superior-ness_!"

He was acting weird again; shifting his arms up and down as he tried to explain himself, his face turning redder and redder each second. She turned her attention to the stage for a moment. Shen's interview was clearing up soon, which would that her own interview would come, and eventually, so would Hiccup's. Since time was running so short, she ignored the rest of his gabbling when she grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Hiccup," she snapped, silencing with him when her hard eyes meeting his terrified own, "when you go on stage, you need to stop being all of - _this_." She waved vaguely at him.

He appeared rather miffed by that."You just gestured to all of me."

"Not all of you exactly. Just most of you." He seemed even more confused by her amendment. Blowing her bangs back in annoyance, she tried to rephrase herself. "You know that weird way you act every time you think someone's gonna kill you?"

He paused to ponder, before remarking, "You mean like now?"

"Yes, exactly! You've got to stop that."

"There isn't an 'off' switch for this, you know," he muttered under his breath, but a glare from her shut his  
>up again. "Okay, then what should I do?"<p>

"Be yourself."

He gaped at her, as if she had just asked him to wear a drag and dance a hula.

"You're a hiccup, Hiccup. This isn't District 2 anymore and the Capitol wants to be entertained. So go on, make fun of yourself! Use all that dry wit and clumsiness and sarcasm, for goodness sake."

Hiccup seemed quite surprised at how passionate her little speech was, and honestly, so was she. Hoping to cover up any concern she might have accidentally displayed, she added, "But don't fall flat your face, or kill MikeWazowski by accident. Our district has a reputation to keep up."

"Sure," he replied, but the goofy grin plastered on his face failed to convince her of his seriousness.

The crowds were cheering out now, so she assumed that Shen's time was over, meaning that hers was on. Shutting her eyes, she exhaled deeply.

"Hey," she heard the nasal voice behind her. Opening her eyes, she turned to face him. "I'd wish you good luck, but," he grinned awkwardly, "you don't really need it."

"Yeah, I don't." She beamed cockily in spite of herself. Without warning, she punched him hard in his shoulder.

"Ow! Seriously, can you people give this shoulder a break?" He complained, still cringing from the blow. "It needs healing time."

"That's for being such an idiot," she commented, ignoring his grumbles. Perhaps it was remorse for hitting him, she held her hand out to him."And that's for everything else. May odds be ever in your favour, Hiccup."

Slowly, he took her hand and shook it, his bony hand fitting too well in her own. "Yeah, but they're already in yours."

Whether it was just some sarcastic jab, or he had meant it sincerely, Astrid didn't have time to ask. Adjusting her jeweled head band one last time, she climbed up the stairs and took the stage.

* * *

><p>"-well, Mr. Wazowski-"<p>

"Just call me Mike, kid. Wazowski's such a pronunciation-killer sometimes."

"Well, Mike, if you think 'Wazowski' is hard name to live with, try mine for size. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Yes, you heard me right."

The audience gasped in astonishment, and laughter exploded across the streets.

"You're joking!" The green-haired master of ceremonies exclaimed. Hiccup was sure that the presenter already knew this fact, since he kept tabs on tributes, but Mike was a good enough fellow that he'd play along to help.

"Mike, I kid you not, unfortunately," the scrawny boy sighed with a tragic air. "Can you imagine having to carry a name of that size - with all this?" He gestured to himself. The audience chuckled heartily.

He continued," They say 'if the helmet fits you, wear it,' but I'm already having issues in my clothes. Literally." He raised his arms, flapping his oversize sleeves back and forth to emphasize the point. "Don't talk to me about names."

By now, the audience was in an uproar, and for a full thirty seconds as the entire Capitol laughed at - no, _with -_ this uncharacteristically hilarious District 2 tribute.

"Oh," cried the host, still chortling as he wiped the stray tear from his eye. "I guess itgoes without saying that it's not easy filling in your dad's shoes, hey?" He addressed the crowds, who all murmured in agreement. They knew Stoick the Vast and his massive reputation.

At the mention of his father, Hiccup's mind suddenly blacked-out. Any snarky commentary or any bad puns he could produce suddenly vanished when an overwhelming sense of dread and guilt flooded him.

"Hey, Hiccup, are you home?" Mike said to the boy. The boy blinked, jerked unwillingly back to reality. Mike probably had taken note of his side-track, so he reiterated the comment, "I was talking about following your father's footsteps. His very big footsteps." That addition earned some light snickers from the spectators.

Hiccup scrambled for something, but he kept drawing a blank. His palms were starting to sweat as he realized that the silence was dragging, and all the rapport he may have built tonight would disappear if he kept this up.

His mind returned to what Astrid had said. '_Stop looking at people like they're going to kill you._' That one he'd managed to maintain mostly. '_Make fun of yourself.'_ He'd done that several times, and it's work so far, but it was going to be forgotten unless he spun a new angle.

'_Be yourself.'_ He suddenly knew what he needed to do, but it was going to be extremely painful. Still, it was the only thing he could think of tonight, and if he was going to die tomorrow, he should say at least once.

To be himself, he wasn't going to just be an insecure boy - he was going to be an insecure son.

His voice was parched and broken, "It's pretty hard, being son of the strongest, bravest man your District's ever known."

A hush resounded in the spectator stands as the crowds hung on his every word.

He could barely keep his face impassive as he carried on."Everyone's always expected me to be like my dad." He snorted distastefully at himself. "Not exactly working out." A little tittering from the crowds, but it was sympathy that was more quickly passed around.

"I doubt he'd ever said it, but I'd could always tell by how he acted around me. It couldn't have been easy after all"- he tried to shrug, but it ended more like slumping his shoulders - "having such a pathetic son."

So great was the stillness that even a pin drop could be heard. Mike gave him a pat on the back, before asking, "If let's say - only 'if' - you know you won't make it through the games, what would you tell your father?"

What he would say? - there were a million of unsaid words over the years that needed desperately to be communicated, but three minutes were running out, and this may be very last time he could say anything at all.

His voice was shaky, but he said it loud, "Dad," he swallowed nervously, "I know I never was the son you wanted, and I'm sorry that I've only ever disappointed you. I just want you to know that"- his throat was dry with fear, but he gulped it down - "I'll try, Dad, and I hope that this is one thing that I-I won't disappoint you about."

It sounded really weak, which is why he appreciated the presenter's addition next. Mike squeezed the boy's shoulder reassuringly, declaring firmly,"And try you will, Hiccup. Try you will." Jumping to his feet and guiding to the boy to his own, the presenter turned to crowds."Ladies and Gentlemen, Hiccup of District 2!"

The crowds applauded and cheered madly, but Hiccup couldn't take pleasure in his victory tonight. Not when tomorrow was so near.

* * *

><p>"-Hiro- did I pronounce your name right?"<p>

"You need to roll on the 'r' but besides that, it's fine."

"Alright, Hiro, what would you say is your biggest advantage in the game?"

"My expertise with electronics, duh. You give me anything with wires and I can promise you I'll can make you cry with it."

"I've a feeling you won't be finding much machinery down in the Arena, though."

Some chuckles.

"Oh, you'd be surprised at what one can dig up-"

* * *

><p>She could almost hear her mother's voice. 'Take small steps - ladies don't go galloping around on stage. Sit with your legs together, for goodness sake! You are not sitting on a horse!"<p>

It was uncomfortable, but Merida bore with it. Placing her feet together, she lay her hands on her lap, straightening out her back.

"So Merida," the strange, short green man on her left started talking, "how has your visit to the Capitol been?"

"It's quite alright." She could imagine her mother groaning at that; an answer like that was could kill all form of conversation instantly. So she added, "I love the food." She could slap herself for how stupid that sounded.

Mike didn't seem to think that, though. "Oh, really? What's your favorite dish so far?"

Trying to sound light-hearted, Merida jingled a false giggle. "Well, there are so many. I do like the sugar buns awfully, and the roast beef here's a quite a belter-"

"A belter?" The presenter asked, not understanding.

"Oh, some district slang," she hurriedly explained. "It means 'great' or 'awesome'." If her mother were here, she'd rant on and on about how slang was for the working class folk, and a lady needed to speak with diction and precision. Well her mother wasn't here now. Deciding that she might as well earn some popularity points, she got up and yelled, "The Capitol's a belter!"

The citizen's roared in approval to her statement, and she waved enthusiastically at them, garnering more hearty cheers.

"Well, Merida," Mike said, when she took her seat again, "I'd love to hear more about the food you love, or learn more charming District 5 slang. Nut time's a little short, and there some questions that we really like to ask."

"Well, fire away, Mike," she responded casually, kicking back her heels, leaning herself against the seat as she tucked her hands behind her head, possibly ruining the bun that her red curls were twisted in. Within twenty seconds, she had discarded the ladylike image, and in her head, she couldn't help but be amused by that.

"Well, Merida, " the green man began, "a lot of us here would very much like to know; why did you volunteer? That girl who got reaped wasn't some friend of yours, was she?"

"Oh, no," Merida answered readily. She had predicted this question and was prepared for it. "If you want my honest answer, I just wanted to be a heroine. I know it sounds silly"- she chuckled lightly along with Mike - "but I'd thought it was high time my district got themselves a victor." It was a very confident answer, and no doubt the career pack would take it as a challenge. She didn't mind; let them come.

"Well, with an amazing high score like 11, I have no doubt that you've got something special in store for us," Mike said, turning to her.

"Aye, I do." She smirked mysteriously, hoping that it would be enough to gain the audience's interest. "But that's a secret."

"Could you drop a hint? A teaser?"

The redhead shook her head, still grinning slyly.

"Aww, c'mon! We can't take the suspense, can we folks?" He called out to the audience. They hooted in agreement.

"Well," Merida pretended to consider, "all I can say is that, I'm strong, like my da'-"

"Fergus Dunbroch? The last victor from District 5?" That was added for the benefit of any audience who hadn't been following the games too closely.

"Aye, one and the same." Merida beamed at the mention of her father. "And I'm wiley and quick," - she recalled the night before the reaping - "like my mum."

A vision suddenly flashed through her mind; her father leaning back on his fur-covered chair, roaring his head off at every little thing she said, bellowing, "That's my lass!" Her brothers, even though they pretended to hate her, would probably have crafted out banners bearing her name. She could imagine them racing around, waving them madly while her mother told them to shush. She would be all prim and proper, complete with tea and cake. She'd remark something disapproving, but her eyes would be shining with slight amusement at her husband and sons' behavior, and when she watched her daughter-

Merida didn't know actually. Would she cry? Would she chortle? Would she smack her forehead and demand why in tarnation was her daughter resting her right ankle on her left knee?

Merida realized that she'd give anything just to hear her mother say any of those again.

"Dad, mum," she said suddenly. Her eyes turned from Mike Wazowski, from the crowds, to the lens of a nearby camera that was swerving around. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the screens all focused on her face. "I'll make you proud, I promise -" solemnly, she made a cross sign over her heart,"-the way I'm proud to be your daughter." Without thinking, she kissed the three centre fingers of her left hand and held it out; a salutation of respect, for the ones who had raised her.

She heard a sob from the crowds, and spun startledly to the audience. Upon scrutiny, she noted that some hankies were being passed around in the stands, and even saw a tear in Mike's eye. "They couldn't be more proud, I'm sure," the little man told her, patting her hand. "Ladies and Gentlemen." He gestured to her to stand with him and she did. Taking her hand and raising it with his own, he announced, "Merida Dunbroch of District 5!"

The teary-eyed crowds screamed and waved. 'Remember to smile,' her mother's voice told her, so she did, beaming as she took her bow.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Goldie."<p>

She jumped from her seat. "Is it time?"

He gestured for to relax, shaking his head. "Still on District 5. You should come watch. The guy's gold."

"He's funny?" Rapunzel couldn't help feeling a bit of envy. She wished she could be funny, but she was too nervous for that. After watching the first four tributes, she decided to to hiding back in the studio, instead of joining the styling team and the escorts in the lounge. Perhaps it wasn't fair to compare herself with the Careers, but how everyone managed to make an angle for themselves, she didn't know. Gothel was a natural on stage, of course. She was clever and quick with quips. Elegant, witty and a tad rambunctious made her a memorable figure. Her district mate, Shen, surrounded himself with an aura of mystery and steeliness that Rapunzel didn't doubt the hard-nose Capitol folk appreciated. The District 2 girl was definitely striking both in appearance and presentation, with sharp answers and dark looks made her threatening yet appealing figure. Even her male counterpart, who seemed rather awkward and shy, actually ended up being quite a crowd stirrer - she felt like crying throughout the whole interview, first of laughter, then of sympathy.

Bruiser and Killer had already done up her dress and hair, and she knew the angle that she needed to play as; the gushing, excited valley girl who just loved everything about the Capitol. However, as time dragged by, she began to doubt her abilities in pulling off such a show.

"-actually, I think he's not really being funny on purpose," Flynn was saying, "It's more like he doesn't know what's going on."

He must have noted her trouble countenance, because his tone changed. "You okay, Blondie?"

"Honestly?" She squeezed herself on to the studio chair, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I'm terrified."

"Well, maybe try to have some mercy when throwing people of train carriages." That earned an unamused expression from both her and her chameleon. Clearing his throat, he asked again,"So, what's the matter?"

She sighed, looping back a strand of gold. "I don't think I can do this. What if I trip and fall? Or I say something stupid? Or they just laugh at me?" As she rattled on, the tall man just turned to the chameleon, who with a sad, shaking head, told him what he needed to know.

"Rapunzel," he interjected firmly. She paused, spinning towards him. "You're gonna do fine. Look," he grabbed a studio stool, drawing up to her, "when I was in your spot, I was freakin' out. But my mentor at that time - a bloke called Big Nose, I don't think you've met him - just told me stop whining and do it. And you know what happened?"

"Your interview flopped."

"Exactly!" Flynn cried. Then his face fell. "Wait, you know?"

"I kind of watched it yesterday, and then..." she trailed off, suddenly finding the floor extremely fascinating.

"Well, yeah," Flynn hurried to bridge the gap, "but the thing is, in the end I still won, because one; I already had dozens of sponsors, who, even after my embarrassing presentation, still supported me. Two; I had enough skills to get me through the Arena. I've already snagged your sponsors, and you have your cool hair. What does this tell you?"

Rapunzel pondered for a moment. "That my interview doesn't matter?"

"Now you've got!" Flynn thumped her heartily on the back. "Just go out there and have fun."

She was still rather skeptical, and extremely confused, reminding him, "I thought you wanted me to play up being the 'harmless git'."

"Well," he made a face, "that kind of went down the drain when you got a nine for your judging."

She blushed guiltily, muttering,"Oh, sorry."

"It's fine." He shrugged. He took one of her shaking hands, steadying it with his own. "Blondie, tonight might very well be the very last night to you ever have, and I think it's way more important that you have some fun than putting a fancy show."

She asked, with a giggle,"So, I should do something crazy?"

"No. You must do something crazy,"'he insisted with a grin. "Have the time of your life, and you'll give the Capitol something to remember."

It was only in the pause they realized how close their faces were. Rapunzel turned pink while Flynn hastily removed his hands from her own, flushing slightly as he did. "Err, well,-" he brushed back his hair in attempt to gloss over it, "-good luck." He rose to leave, but just as he was about to reach the door, he spun back. Rapunzel could sense he was debating with himself, before he finally said, "I know you watched my Games yesterday."

"Yeah," she confirmed it uneasily, her eyes downcast again.

She could feel his conflict as he stuttered out, "You know, if there is - if you still want - I can still seal an alliance with the District 1 girl."

"No." Her answer was immediate. Seeing his raised brow, she explained her answer, "I think I understand why you don't me to, so I won't."

"Okay." His tone was neutral, but Rapunzel could tell he was really relieved. "I was just afraid, you know, you'd think me as a hypocrite," he scoffed bitterly at himself. "I'm the furthest thing from the perfect mentor, y'know. I completely get it if you don't trust half the stuff I tell you."

"What? No," she contradicted out flat. "You're not perfect, but you're an amazing mentor, Flynn Rider, don't ever think otherwise." At a fit of impulse, she swung her arms around him, engulfing him in an embrace.

"Ha," was all she heard from him, but he sounded pleased, and he didn't pull away. A moment of silence later, he spoke again, but not quite what she had expected.

"Eugene."

She dropped her arms, drawing back. "What?"

He gave her a small smile. "My real name's Eugene Fitzherbert." He shrugged. "I guess someone might as well know."

She widened her eyes at that, wondering if it could be some joke, but Flynn-Eugene seemed too embarrassed for it to be anything but the truth.

Well, she supposed that that might be all the backstory she'd ever get from him. Since a good turn deserved another, she promptly answered,"My hair turns brown and stops growing when I cut it."

His reaction was instant. "What?"

Just then, the two stylists barged in. "Five minutes to stage time," Killer growled - it wasn't that he meant to be menacing. He just couldn't help his ferocious manner, Rapunzel had come to realise.

Leaving a confused Flynn-Eugene, she said to him as they dragged her off, "You'll be watching, right?"

He couldn't give her an answer because he was still completely blow away by her previous statement.

Turning to the reptile, he demanded incredulously, "Her hair turns _what_ when _what_?"

The green creature only nodded smugly.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**  
><strong>This chapter is very dialogue heavy, but it can't be helped. It's interviews. Hope y'all don't mind.<strong>  
><strong>So, Mike Wazowski for Caesar Flickerman! I decided to get around my post-2010 rule by reminding myself that Monster University came out in 2013, so by extension...<strong>

**Did anyone catch the snippet of Frozen dialogue by Hiccup? There was a Lion King reference too.**

**So Flynn reveals his true identity to a random blonde kid that he had known for what, - five days? (In the movie he did it in half a day. hmmph.)**

**Up Next: Interviews Part 2**

**Man, does anyone realise how close the games are already? So exciting!**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**  
><strong>Hi, back from vacation, but the thing is I wrote this entire chapter and next during vacation, so I hope next update is prompt enough.<strong>  
><strong>Btw, to any fellow writers out there, how do you guys balance writing, work and social life? I think I'm not doing a very good job, honestly. Is there an update period that you guys are most okay with? Like once every week is okay?<strong>  
><strong>I finally extremely amusing that the chapter I got the most reviews was followed by the chapter I got the least reviews for. That's actually kind of funny, and a nice deflator for my ego... But to reviewers, thank you! It's still nice to get these.<strong>

**Mailbox:**

**SmilingStarcat: Thanks for your review! Yes, you already know too much, but I hope how I tackle this issue will blow your mind, in someway. It's gonna be quite complicated, and possibly quite hard to believe, but hopefully overall whatever I do will make sense. I'm going to kill some nice people, yes, but there're always ways to bring them back (no, I'm not going to revive the dead.) Hoped you like the interviews!**

**ElvisRules41: Haha! Flynn on drugs is plausible, but it'd be too distracting in the story. Besides, I needed to throw in the Tales of Flynnigan Rider at some point. Initially, I was going to make Rapunzel find the book immediately, but why pass on an angsty moment?**  
><strong>I haven't read the Httyd books, but I have read up some on it, and lots of Httyd fanfics have stuff referencing to it, so I'll be using some book refs (e.g. in chap 4, I mention that Spitelout was Hiccup's uncle, but this was never mentioned in films). I'm also going to reference to lots of original material, like Rotg books, The original Snow Queen, and even the Big Hero 6 comics. The focus material, however, are still the films.<strong>  
><strong>Yeah, Pitch being fair is sort of weird, but don't worry, he's just doing it to annoy Lotso.<strong>

**Next chapter is coming soon! I just need to edit language and grammar.**  
><strong>See ya folks!<strong>


	12. Chapter 11:For Those We Love Part 2

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 11: For Those We Love So Dearly Part 2

* * *

><p>"Rapunzel, I think we're extremely curious about your hair. Is it real?"<p>

"Yep, it is."

"How long is it exactly?"

"A little over 70 feet, the last time I measured it."

"Whoa-ho! You hear that folk! A full 70 feet!" The presenter chuckled, while the crowds murmured in astonishment. "Do you mind me asking though, why have you kept it so long? If it isn't a sensitive issue, of course."

"I...I can only say it's kinda of a health problem."

"I see. Now, I understand you have something to show us?"

"Oh, yes." The blonde girl scrambled to pick up the instrument lying by her side. "I'd just like to say I've enjoyed my stay in the Capitol. I've eaten so much amazing food, tried so many cool clothes, and met some good people." Her eyes darted immediately to young brown-haired man seated in the stands. He gave a two-fingered salute, then pointed at the green chameleon on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful to have this opportunity, and I only wish I could stay longer" -there were some 'awwws' echoing around- "So! I would like to sing this song," she draped the strap over shoulder, with her fingers twined around the finger board, "about that, and I dedicate it to my mentor, Eu-erm, Flynn."

The spotlight went suddenly to the brown-haired man. Basking in the attention, he grinned and wave, but a curious look was what he shot at her.

"Oh, and thank you, Hook Hand, for providing the guitar," she added, clearing her throat as she poised her fingers over the strings. Strumming gently, she allowed the intro to pass before beginning,

_"All those days, watching from the windows,__  
><em>_All those years, outside looking in.__  
><em>_All that time, never really knowing,__  
><em>_just how blind I've been."_

She glanced up nervously, catching her mentor's eye again. He nodded encouragingly, giving her a small smile. Taking in a quick breath, she went on,  
><em><br>__"Now I'm here, blinking in the starlight,__  
><em>_Now I'm here, suddenly I see.__  
><em>_Standing here, it's all so clear,__  
><em>_I'm where I'm meant to be."_

Her voice was clear and sonorous. Her fingers nimbly climbed the board.

_"And at last I see the light,__  
><em>_And it's like the fog has lifted.__  
><em>_And at last I see the light,__  
><em>_And it's like the sky is new."__"And it's warm and real and bright,__  
><em>_Like the world has somehow shifted."_

The entire Capitol listened in awestruck silence as the chords descended.

"All at once, everything is different,  
>Now that I see you."<p>

Raising her head, she grinned when she saw him mouth 'crazy' and gave her a thumbs-up. Pascal was hopping up and down in excitement, along with the raving crowds.

"I've gotta say, you have an amazing voice," Mike said admiringly.

"Thank you."

"I'm sure we'd all love an encore, hey folks?"

The audience chorused in agreement.

"Unfortunately, we've run short of time. Thank you for your song, Rapunzel, but we've got to finish the questions."

"Sure." She didn't really pay any attention for the rest of the show, because all of hers were fixed on the lanky young man who was engaged in conversation with a miniature reptile.

* * *

><p>For an entire twenty-seconds since his arrival, deafening shrieks were heard from all over the stands. Some ambulances even came on scene just to carter off those who had fainted.<p>

The short green-haired man chortled mirthfully. "I guess you're kind of a lady-killer, aren't you?"

Jack jerked himself uneasily towards the presenter, still quaking in his leather shoes as he sat himself down. He managed to croak hoarsely, "Not on purpose."

There were some laughs from the floor, before many more chants of 'I love you, Jack!' filled another five seconds. It was very difficult to wipe the terrified expression off his face. Wiping off the terrified expression from his face proved to be a challenge. Why did he ever listened to Bunnymund and do the 'flirty-wave-and-wink' stuff during the parade? Now every girl in the Capitol must be convinced that he was her personal Romeo or something! Running off the stage screaming was ridiculously attractive at the moment.

"Is it always like this at home?" The presenter asked, smirking at the boy's obvious distress.

Jack gulped, then wheezed out, "Sometimes it's worse."

The presenter burst into chuckles and so did the audience. Jack cautiously straightened his coat, looking at the host pleadingly. He avoided any glances to the crowds, lest some of the fans assumed that he was looking at them.

Mike noticed this and tried to help. "Well, Jack - just out of pure curiosity, mind you - do you have some special girl of your own?"

Jack privately thought that this wasn't the best topic, but at least the spectators were quiet now. Too quiet, actually. Though he didm't dare steal a glance, he was sure all the girls were desperately awaiting his next words, hoping he would deny it.

His mind immediately drew out some high school dates, but he discarded those - too boring. There was Tooth, who was possibly the sweetest girl in the world. He liked her very much, but he was certain it definitely not 'that way.' Then there was the 'angel' - the platinum blonde girl from District 12...

Whoa! He crossed her out quickly - and why was she even on the list? He barely spoke to her and after the training session, he was sure she felt nothing but disgust towards him. Besides, it would be taboo to have 'feelings' for a fellow tribute, especially from another district. Not that he had any, or anything at all...

A grin crept on his face as a wicked idea popped in his head. It would seem that he could have some fun after all.

"Well, there is special young lady who's waiting for me at home."

Silence was so thick one could walk on it.

"Her eyes are chocolate brown and so her hair. She's not very tall, and to some, she might not be considered pretty. She likes bossing me around and blaming me for things I haven't done - okay, fine I've done SOME of them. She loves ice-skating and building snowmen, but she hates shoving snow. She hates going to school, but she loves making me go. Most of all, she loves to hear my stories, but she'd always criticize them at the end. She's the single most annoying person I've ever had my life, and the only one I'd die for over and over."

Turning to the crowds, he smirked when he noted the many disconsolate faces amongst the female population. He could see Bunnymund fuming at his seat. North was the only person stopping the grey-haired man from stomping over and giving his mentee a much deserved ragging. Jack felt sorry for his mentor sometimes, but it was just so amusing to tease him that he couldn't resist it; it was like taking a carrot from a raging rabbit.

He decided to spare them further agony. "She's Emma, my little sister."

The sigh of relief from the spectator stands was unanimous.

Mike continued from that, "Well, your little sister is one really lucky girl, to have a brother like you."

"I'd say I'm the lucky one," Jack told him, before turning to a camera, "but I still think you're annoying, Emma!"

Some snickers were heard, and Jack couldn't help joining in.

"Is there anything you would like to tell her right now?"

"Like on the TV?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

Jack took a moment to ponder, which was readily filled by more chants and declarations of love by his fans. When his lips parted to speak, a hush descended as all eagerly perked their ears.

"Doesn't mean that sun comes up means that the moon's gone. Doesn't mean there are clouds overhead means the sun's gone. Just believe, and you'll know where to find me."

It was cryptic, and honestly made it very little sense to an outsider. Jack didn't know if he should interpret the lull as people being really moved, or really confused.

In attempt to save himself from the awkward break, he yelled to the camera, "I love you Emma!"

The crowds licked that up like honey, and the uproar that came was so deafening and enthusiastic that Jack immediately clabbered back up into his seat. He could imagine Emma throwing her head back, laughing at his pain, and decided that perhaps all this was worth something after all.

* * *

><p>"You are from the plantation district, aren't you Ralph?"<p>

A grunt.

"So what do you think your best skill is?"

A grim answer, "My hands."

"Well, if you were to encounter a problem in the games, how would you deal with it?"

"I'm gonna wreck it."

"Well, sure. You certainly are very strong, but with the tough opposition you may face, what do you to say to that?"

A growl,"_I'm gonna wreck it!_"

The green-haired presenter recoiled warily. "Okay..."

* * *

><p>She tugged hard on the gloves, rolling her knuckles in her palms. To anyone else, it looked like she was warming herself.<p>

She was so stiff! Why couldn't she be pleasant and cheery? Why couldn't she laugh and make jokes? Anna would do so much better; she was a people-person, after all. She'd gabble on about something completely trivial and make several slip-ups, but her awkward sweetness and bubbly friendliness would win hearts instantly.

Then Elsa reminded herself why Anna was not here.

"-you know her better as the 'Snow Queen', she heard Mike Wazowski's voice blaring from the front. The applause was not much softer. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Elsa Arendelle, the Girl on Ice!"

The heels were biting into her soles as she ascended the stage. The teal green dress was quite becoming on her, but she was well aware that it paled heavily comparison to the fantastic crystal blue gown she had several days earlier. She wondered what was going through the stylists mind when he gave her this dress. Her blonde hair was twisted in a coronet, which was much relieved to be wearing, and what comforted her the most was the gloves.

The presenter was fortunate very polite. "My, my, aren't you a looker, Elsa," the green-haired man greeted her, taking her arm as he led her to the armchair.

"Thank you." She didn't even have the grace to blush. Ladylike manners came to her easily, since Anna and her had had enough lessons from their mother before. But mannerisms alone didn't make good showmanship. Why couldn't she relax?

She could feel her palms aching and burning beneath the gloves - as much ice could burn at least. She heard Mike say something, and she shifted her body to him. "What?"

There was mild laughter at that, while Mike gave her an amused look. "I guess even the Snow Queen can get cold feet. " More laughter came with that, and Elsa forced a smile on your face. She tried to remember the words that Olaf had exchanged with her just two minutes ago, "You're the nicest person in the world, Elsa, but you need to let people know that."

Nice? Why should she be nice to these people, who were the very reasons why she had fight in an Arena in the first place? Her palms formed fists in her lap. _Nice_ was not an option, as far she was concerned.

"-grandest parade ever. That carpet of ice across the streets, it was like 'whoa!' I swear, this has to be the coolest thing since butterscotch ice-cream. Get it? Coolest?" Mike Wazowski was talking.

The audience chortled right on cue.

The green man turned to her now, inquiring, "How did you feel about when you were in that ice dress, rolling down the streets of the Capitol?"

She blinked, then quickly remembered that he was talking about the cover story. Trying to sound good-humoured, she replied, "You mean, after I got over freezing to death?"

Encouraging hoots of laughter came from the stands, and Elsa allowed herself to exhale, adjusting her platinum-blonde over her shoulder.

"It's a pity it lasted only for the parade." Mike sighed dramatically, and much of the crowds agreed with him. "I would love to see that snow again."

Elsa remembered something about that Olaf had said during preparation time. She had just confessed to him that honestly she had no idea what to say or do on the stage.

"Well, Elsa," he had said in sage tone, which in his bubbly voice sounded just too cheerful, "what you need to do is let it go."

"_Let it go_?" She had been bewildered. "What is 'it'?"

Olaf hadn't seemed to hear her. "On the parade night, people loved you because you let it go, and if you are willing to do it tonight, you'll do perfectly." He gave her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

Stepping back, he had admired his handiwork, bouncing excitedly as he had gurgled with joy. "You look beautiful! Or you will be. Here." He shoved a drawing into her hands. It was a sketch design of a dress much similar to the parade gown, but much shorter, without the white train, and strangely, with gloves. Elsa had to admit that the white gloves seemed rather out of place in the design.

"That part's optional," the stylist told her, noticing her finger tracing it.

She had smiled and asked what had been bothering her for a long time, "Olaf, you know why I really wear gloves, right?"

"Yeah!" He had answered without hesitation, as he had adjusted her dress one last time. "You have a thing about dirt. Now on stage, when you ready, I want to twirl for me, then just let the 'magic' take its course."

"What!" Had been all she could say, before she had been shoved unceremoniously out of the studio, to the backstage. He was a rather confusing person, she found.

For now, she searched the crowds and eventually found the short, white-haired stylist in the stands. He found her staring and gave her a happy little wave. By his side sat the old wise victor, who now nodded at her encouragingly. His words came to mind, 'Never let fear stop you from doing what you need to do.'

What she needed to do right now was let it go.

She was trembling, but she spoke up, "Actually, I'm wearing the snow today." She tried steadying herself with the arms of the chair, but she didn't stop herself from talking, even turning to the hordes she so despised, as she called out, "Would you like to see?"

All answers were in approval.

Her knees felt were wobbling like jelly as she got to her feet. Reluctantly, but determinedly she removed her gloves. Dropping them onto the armchair, she took in a breath.

_'Twirl for me,'_ Olaf had said._ 'Let the magic takes its course.'_ So she closed her eyes, and spun.

Shouts of surprised pleasure came as snow started whirling around herself. Specks of ice were flying around as the teal dress wound with her. Her coronet was undone into her plait flapped against her back. She took a risk by allowing an ice blast to shoot up, bursting into icy flakes when it hit the rafters. People were already screaming and whooping with admiration. She recalled the drawing that Olaf had shown her, and with a single touch on her own dress, she willed the ice weave into the green fabric, spinning and twining until what she wore became the exact manifestation of Olaf's drawing.

Cries of awe and gasps of delight were heard all around when she finally stopped, herself giddy with exaltation. The thunderous applause shook the stands so hard that one would have thought an earthquake was happening. With a curtsy, she returned to her seat.

"That's it!" Mike exclaimed with mock resolve, "I'm getting an ice suit!" Many in the stands whooped in agreement.

She remembered to play along. "An Ice suit? With your nice green self?" She found herself teasing the presenter, "I don't know about that." Some snickers came from the spectators.

Mike pretended to pout. "Don't judge till you try." But then he laughed, and Elsa gladly joined.

As of now, only half of the three minutes had been used up. She wondered what Mike would make them talk about next. Pabbie had said he'll likely gloss over the training score - for that she was grateful, but that didn't leave much else to talk about except -

"During the reaping, Elsa, I think all of us," the green-haired gestured at the spectators, then back to himself, "were seriously moved when we saw you volunteer. That girl was your sister, wasn't she?"

He had to bring that up, didn't he? As subtly as she could, she slid her gloves back on – she had turned them white, like Olaf's design. This topic was one she couldn't face with her bare hands.

"Yes," was her short reply. Then she suddenly imagined Anna curled up in front of the holographic player they had at home, clinging on every word that she said. Ever since the 'accident', she had always been afraid of reaching out to Anna, afraid of hurting her. But now Anna was safe, a million miles away, and the only way she could hurt her is by not speaking up right now.

"Her name is Anna," she interrupted Mike before he could inquire further. Afraid that she offended him, she glanced his way anxiously. However, he just nodded, telling her to continue. So she turned herself to the crowds once more. "She's my younger sister, the only family I've had since my parents died. I've - " she shifted uncomfortably in her seat "- always shut her out. I'd said that it was for her own good, but really, -" she wrung her hands together, "- it was for myself. I was afraid to love, and to accept it. And I just want Anna to know that I'm sorry."

Her words rung like a bell through the silence. Every neck was craned forward as all were all ears to whatever she had to say.

"There's so much I need to do, and to say..." she trailed off, not sure where to go with her words.

Fortunately Mike Wazowski was on the ball - it was expected, of course, since he had been in the job was ages. "Seems like you really want to go home, don't you?"

Elsa nodded, not daring to speak, lest her voice cracked and betrayed her overwhelming fear. Chanting her mantra over and over in her head, she prayed he'd take over.

"I don't mean to a stickler, Elsa, but your score compared to others, well, let's say it's just not the best" - looks like Olaf was wrong after all - "what do say of your fighting odds then?"

Mike wasn't bringing it up to damage her image - he was trying to help, but she needed to use this well. She pursed her lips, but she couldn't ignore the quiet forever.

At the back of her head, an old memory surfaced; the memory of the first ever execution she had ever witnessed. As the mayor of the District then, her father had to be present as the Peacekeepers led a man to the gallows. They had said that he had stolen from the bakery - three whole loaves. The man had been stocky and well-built, and she had wondered why he couldn't just fight the hunger and wait for the next pay, like others did. Surely he was strong enough. Her father had then pointed out to her a sickly, skinny little boy amongst the masses, whose dirty blonde hair was much like the man's. He had then told her something that she never forgot, and that was what she said right now.

"You'd surprised at what people would do for those they love."

* * *

><p>"That was incredible!" Olaf congratulated her as she arrived back in the studio. He immediately threw a hug around her. "I knew you could do it!"<p>

"Thank you, Olaf," Elsa said as sincerely as she could manage, when the little white man released her at last. She was still jittery, but largely, she was relieved that her part was over.

"You did well," a deep, throaty voice came from behind. She spun around. His dark eyes shone with kind affirmation. "Your sister would be proud."

"Thank you," she answered simply.

"Ooh! Ooh! Hans' on right now! Let's go watch!" Olaf was hopping around, dragging her towards the lounge. Elsa was reluctant, but she couldn't refuse in the face of the hyperactive stylist's enthusiasm. In some ways, he reminded her too much of Anna.

Hans was halfway through his interview by the time they settled down, but it was obvious that he was doing fine. He wasn't as funny as the boy from District 2, but his pleasant demeanor and droll humor kept him entertaining.

"So, Hans," the presenter in the screen said after the applause died down, "do you have any special someone back home? A girlfriend?"

Elsa grabbed the television controller, punching up the volume. She did want to hear what he had to say about her sister.

The boy hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Well, I had a few girlfriends before, but" - he shrugged- "no one special, as of now."

Elsa's eyes widened. What was he talking about? Wasn't he dating Anna? Had something happened to them on the day the trains left? Or was this some subtle message to tell his girlfriend to stop waiting for him? She scrutinize the boy carefully, suspiciously watching and waiting for his next move.

The presenter scoffed at Hans' response. "No one? A handsome lad like you? I don't believe that."

The red boy's eyes darted uncomfortably away for a moment, before he begun again, "Well, there's this one girl, but as far as I know, she sort of hates me-"

Hates him? Elsa's mind was in a whirl. Anna adored this guy! She liked him so much that it even made herself jealous! Behind the gloves, she could feel the familiar aching sensation, and she quickly clenched both hands to prevent the spread, but her fury knew no bounds. She furrowed her brows, her lips pressed in a hard line. If Hans had been playing her sister for a fool all this while, she would ensure he paid fully for it; boyfriend or no boyfriend.

"-if you win the Games, she'd have no choice but start liking you back," Mike replied. Much of the audience concurred with him.

The boy swallowed nervously, folding his arms back - was it for show? - before he continued, "Actually, winning won't help in my case."

That threw Elsa off again, and this feeling was mutual amongst both the spectators and the other viewers in the lounge.

"Well, why not?" the presenter questioned curiously.

The boy reddened, and seemed reluctant, but eventually, he answered, "Because she's here too. In a matter of fact, she came with me."

* * *

><p><strong>SN:****  
><strong>**Did anyone see that last part coming? Who thought it was going to be Jack or Hiccup saying these signature lines? Because if you did, success for me!****I'm probably going to drop songs from the movies every now and then, but I hope it won't be too inappropriate and that you guys don't hate it. So, 'I See the Light' from Tangled.**

**The teal dress Elsa transforms from is much like her coronation dress, just more Capitol style.****Up Next: Counting down starts here! For the next 2 chapters:**

_**"I said I'd think of something."**_

_**"It can't be okay. It'll never be okay."**_

_**"He was a man of his word."**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I got bored. So I'm just updating this now. **

**Mailbox:**

**countrygal15: King Julien would be actually fantastic for a Caesar. Wonder why I didn't think of that…but I'm not very familiar with Madgascar stuff – and the dude is really nuts. Initially, I was just going to make Elsa wear the dress from the start, but since you suggested this, and since she's probably not gonna get to transform her dress again anytime soon, I added it in as well.**

**A way to uncreative girl: Thanks! I felt a bit uneasy about it, but I'm glad you like it after all. Thanks for reviewing.**

**Okay, I'll go a get a life for maybe two more days, then I'll update.**

**Review! Ask Questions! Critique!**

**See ya later folks!**


	13. Chapter 12: A Dark Tomorrow

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 12: A Dark Tomorrow

* * *

><p><strong>District 12 Living Quarters<strong>

**12 Hours**

She only met Hans again back at their living quarters, and the minute she did, her fist met his nose.

He tumbled back, crashing into a porcelain display vase and cracking it to pieces. It was against the rules to attack a fellow tribute before the Games, but Elsa's common sense had long left the room. Shock was written all over his bloodied face, but that only made her angrier.

"How dare you." Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper, but her glare spoke volumes. Ice was formed below her feet, but fortunately she was moving too fast for anyone to notice. Shoving him hard again, she only drew back when she felt the familiar vibration in her palms. "How dare you pretend to like me!" She spat at him. "And how dare you break Anna's heart!"

He was crumpled like a heap on the ground, but she wouldn't have spared him at all if their mentor and stylists hadn't come rushing in. Olaf had to hold her back from going at Hans again, while the other stylist ran to the boy.

"What is the meaning of this?"cried Weselton - Weaseltown, Olaf had dubbed him appropriately - as he hoisted the boy up. "Look what you did to his nose! How do you think this is going to look on his image, hmmm? How's this going to reflect on _me_?"

"Thanks for the concern," Hans remarked with no little amount of sarcasm. His eyes darted to the furious girl who struggled in the small white man's arms. It was only the firm hold of her mentor on her shoulder that halted her endeavor.

Her brows creased at Hans as she spoke, her steely voice like a knife, "How could treat my sister like this? Can you even imagine how this would _destroy her_?"

His expression was more indignant than remorseful. "Better that she cries now than later," he replied hotly.

This would have earned him another socking in the face had Olaf not held her back again. Waiting for Elsa to calm down, Hans started again in a softer tone, "Whatever I did, I did it for Anna."

"You did it for-how-" she spluttered, rocking herself forward and back, "which part of 'destroy her' did you not understand?"

"Don't you see? No, you don't, of course." There was slight annoyance in tone. He pressed the handkerchief that Weselton had handed him against the bridge of his nose. "The Capitol loves drama; it spices up the show, keeps them hooked."

Disgust marked her usually fair countenance. "So you gave them a lie?"

"No," he disagreed, "I gave them a romance; star-crossed lovers."

"Excellent," she remarked, her voice dripping with disdain, folding her arms to prevent the temptation of punching him bloody again. "Now not only did you betray my sister, we have to pretend to be in love."

"I bought us attention, and maybe even sponsors," the boy countered, almost raising his voice. He hurriedly composed himself, but in all the time that they had spent together, Elsa had never seen him this angry.

"You know, he's right." A voice piped in. Elsa spun towards her stylist, raising an eyebrow at him. The white man explained, "From the start, only you had a rep as the 'Snow Queen', and Hans didn't have anything - sorry 'bout that." He apologised to redheaded boy.

"It's quite alright," the boy said, his voice going nasal as he squeezed his nose.

"Both your training scores aren't that great, especially Elsa's -but don't worry, I still love you," he hastily assured the stricken girl. "But now that Hans confessed that he likes you-"

"Pretended to confess," Elsa readily corrected.

"-yeah, okay, you're both are suddenly a whole lot more desirable in eyes of the public, because who doesn't eat up love stories? i.e. You guys have a better chance of getting sponsor," the stylist finished, clasping his hands together to add the flair.

"He is right, Elsa," Pabbie had added on gravely.

Elsa took time to absorb the explanation. She glanced sharply at the male tribute, who was still nursing the bruised nose. She recalled the night of the judging, and the conversation that they had.

He seemed to have read her mind. "I said I'd think of something." In his other hand, Elsa observed that he was fingering a small object - a lock of white and brown hair, a color scheme only too familiar to herself. "Maybe one of us now stand a chance of going home."

Going home to Anna. He did think of her. She was unwilling to, but she had to admit; this was genius.

Seeing that she was suitably composed now, Olaf let go of her arm. Uneasily, she headed towards Hans. He flinched away, but noting the lack of aggression, he allowed her to draw nearer.

"I'm sorry," she told him, humble enough to avoid his gaze. "I acted out of turn."

A warm smile appeared on his face as he wiped the reminder of the blood. "You just care a lot about your sister."

It added to her guilt that he was so forgiving about it. She cringed when she saw the faint blue mark on his face. "Will you be alright?"

"Oh, I'll be fine." He brushed her off lightly. "Twelve brothers, remember? Had my fair share of fistfights." That earned a tight smile from herself.

Pabbie then interrupted them. "You both should get some rest. Tonight has been exhausting, and tomorrow's a long day."

Tomorrow...was it so near? Any good spirits the teenagers had dried up like dew in the morning sun. Elsa's heart sank, and she found herself clutching her arms till they turned white.

Hans bade her goodnight, courteously as ever, and she returned it, but back in the safety of her own room, didn't hold back on the frost. The glass panes were coated with ice and even the covers of the bed had freshly formed snow lining them. She crept up onto the bed, lying herself down, but she doubted that she could sleep. The air seemed to still but the ice crackled and grew.

Tonight was not a good night.

* * *

><p><strong>District 8 Living Quarters<strong>

**11 hours**

"Young lady, you should be sleeping."

Rapunzel startled, but huffed in exasperation when she saw it was just her mentor. She raised her paint-coated hand, flicking some of the purple liquid at him.

"Hey, watch it! I just got this dry-cleaned!" The brown-haired glanced down at his vest in mock dismay. Rapunzel just threw her head back and laughed, dipping her hand into the paint, before returning to her work.

After dabbing off some of the paint, he leaned over to see the picture. "A sun?"

"Yep, I like suns," she said, splattering some white over the purple background. "A new day, a new hope, that kind of thing." Pascal, carrying a clean cloth up in his mouth, scurried up to her. She took the cloth dry of her hand, before adding fresh layer of orange over her fingers.

"I've been wanting to ask you about what you said earlier," He started conversationally. "I could have sworn you said your hair turned brown when you cut it."

"Yep," she confirmed, making orange swirls in the centre of the circle face. "And it stops growing too."

He scrunched his face, shaking his head disbelievingly. "I'm sorry, but that makes no sense."

"Nope." She shrugged cheerfully. Drawing the hair back from her ear, she showed him a single short lock of brown. "That was the first time the people at the orphanage cut my hair, and the last. "

He peered closely, still half-skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"Well, I think I would know if it started growing again," the blonde girl retorted humorously, dropping her long golden locks as she returned to painting.

Flynn-Eugene was baffled. "But why?"

"I've never known," she admitted, "some superstitious people in the home said it was a curse. The doctors said it was some pigmentation issue, or calcium deficiency. But honestly, no one really knows, and no one's dared to cut my hair ever since. Not until an explanation is found."

Unconsciously, her left hand went to stroking one of her long golden locks. "I've always thought that maybe if I'd knew why my hair is like this, then maybe...maybe I'll become 'Rapunzel Something'. Who knows? I'll even find a family." Glancing at the clock on the wall, she watched as the seconds ticked by. Ticking to the eventually finality of tomorrow. "I guess that's not happening anymore."

Her head dropped, and her body slumped back. Her right arm fell limp by the sheet. Pascal crawled over to her, squeaking softly as he rubbed his scaled head against her forearm, and she smiled at that. From the reflection of the glass cabinet across the table, she could see that her mentor was thinking of something appropriate he could say. He was supposed to a fast-talking ladies' man, but she guessed that perhaps he was lacking in the 'comforter' department. It was cute that he tried, though.

She decided to perhaps spare him a little and an idea came to mind. "So, Eugene, huh?"

"Ah, well," he just shrugged, pretending to be absorbed in examining the paint bottles. "I'll spare you the sob story of poor orphan Eugene Fitzherbert. It's-" he sounded rather hesitant "-it's quite a downer."

When he spun back to her though, he found her large pupils staring at him, resting her chin on her knuckles, waiting eagerly like a child on Christmas day.

"Haha." In spite himself, he relented. Siting down beside her, he began, "I grew up in an orphanage, like you." Her eyes widened at this fact. "There was this book. A book I read to all the younger kids - _the Tales of Flynnigan Rider_! Swashbuckling rogue, richest man alive, and not bad with the ladies," – that an amused chuckle from her. To a kid who had nothing, well," he shrugged thoughtfully, "that seemed like a better option."

"But," Rapunzel was curious, "how did that lead to changing your name?"

"I'm getting to that." The man seemed a lot more nervous at this point. He inhaled, then exhaled, then continued, "When I was eight, I ran away from the orphanage and found myself a career - in thievery."

Rapunzel gasped at that, and she wished she didn't after that. He seemed hurt by her response. Trying to twist it to better angle, she asked, "Stealing's punishable by death, isn't it? Weren't you afraid?"

"I was, but I was too hard-headed to pay heed to that, " he confessed, rubbing his neck. "I got away for a few years. Became quite notorious in the neighborhood. It was kind of fun," he made a half-smile. "Until the Peacekeepers got a wind of it. I was good at running from them, but eventually they decided to wait me out at the Reapings. They knew that even I didn't dare avoid it."

His face darkened and his muscles tensed. Rapunzel wanted to ask him to stop, but he waved her away. "There was a guy I knew who worked in the Justice Building. He helped me burn up the old records of Eugene Fitzherbert - that was the person of the Peacekeepers were hunting, after all - and he helped me craft a new identity. "

"However, his help came at a price. He had five children, with only two old enough to get reaped. His terms were that I'd collect tessarae, in my new name, for all five of them. Sometimes in famine seasons, he'd make me throw my name again for more. I never got a scrape of food from the tessarae." His voice was hoarse and dry. "The first two years, nothing happened. On the third year, Flynn Rider got reaped."

Rapunzel could barely stop her eyes from welling up. When he noted the tears rolling down her cheeks, he laughed a little. "Hey, it isn't this my story? I should be the one crying," he teased. Rapunzel giggled, but it didn't stop a tear splashing onto her painting.

"Look at what you've done," he declared in mock dismay, pointing dramatically at the drop. "The sun's melting!"

She snickered at that, and it set him off as well. The tears that came were only ones of joy. The laughter fell in a sober quiet after a while.

Rapunzel broke in the silence. "It isn't okay though," she said ruefully, blending the tears into the paint. "Everything that you went through in the Games," she shook her head, " it can't be okay. It'll never be okay."

Eugene sighed, rolling his shoulders back. "True, but hey," he nudged her gently with his elbow, " it gets better. I can promise that." A moment later, he added, "You can't tell anyone about this, by the way. I could get into some serious trouble."

"Of course."

There was a comfortable lull as both of them sat shoulder to shoulder; the blonde still adding white lines around the golden sun, and her brown-haired mentor watched her at work. Using the base of her thumb, she marked the last curve, pressing the white into the purple.

"There! All done!" Her grin was triumphant.

She turned to Flynn eagerly for an opinion. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he pointed out, "Purple and yellow is weird combination."

"Eugene," she deadpanned. She was getting better spotting his jibes.

"Fine, it looks amazing. Happy?" he answered with mock disdain, but she could see he really liked it.

She told him, "You can have it." He glanced at her in askance, so she reiterated, "It's yours."

"I couldn't," he replied.

"C'mon, _you know you want it_," she sang, waving the parchment at him temptingly.

He pretended to ponder. "If you insist," he finally answered, with a false air of defeat," but only with the artist's autograph."

"Done." She promptly dipped a finger into the black pot, then scrawled her name the corner of the picture. "For the record, just so you know, I like Eugene Fizherbert better."

He pretended to be crushed. "And I've invested so much in Flynn! What does a wanted criminal hold over a victor-slash-practical-superstar?"

"Well," she replied, as she wiped her finger with the cloth, "Flynn's just a cocky, vain, self-centered airhead who cares too much about the portrayal of his nose-"

"-hey! I thought you said I was a good mentor! And my nose _is_ important!"

"-whereas Eugene is a sweet guy who 'dreams of better worlds'. He struggles to do his best, and ends up being really insecure because he thinks it's not enough, when it really is. " Her expression softened considerably as she handed him the sheet, her smile telling him the sincerity of her words.

His eyes met hers as he slowly took the painting. "Well, you're the first. I-" he returned a small smile, "I have to thank you."

Laying the painting out to dry, he told her gently, "Go catch some sleep. Maybe dream about something nice. Heaven know you need it." He muttered the last sentence darkly.

"Yeah, I will." With that, she scurried off to bed. Her heart was thumping wildly against her chest, but it wasn't in fear of the morrow to come. No, she was too distracted for that. It was horribly girlish, and possibly inappropriate given circumstances, but she had the strangest idea that he liked her. And she liked that idea.

* * *

><p><strong>District 5 <strong>

**9 Hours**

_A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth,_

She looped the yarn around the linen wraps, her fingers methodically twining and yanking down the knots. When she reached the end of row, she took the iron comb and shoved hard onto the knots, forcing them tight together. Taking the scissors, she snipped away the excess, sweeping the yarn away with the side of her foot, then she started another row.

_Mise ri d' thaobh, O mhaighdean bhàn,_

Textiles were by right the speciality of District 8, but the fabrics made there were largely functional, except the goods produced specially for the Capitol. Her own crafts were solely aesthetic and sentimental reasons. Another and the more important reason was that weaving helped her to think.

_Ar rìbhinn òg, fàs a's faic,_

Everyone was very proud of Merida - Fergus had been going on to no end about it. The fact that their very own firebrand had nabbed a score higher than any Career, or anyone ever, in a matter of fact, had been the cause of much celebration in the district. There was still some tension with the Peacekeepers due to last weeks events, but largely there had been general mirth amongst the people. She held no grudge against them for doing so, but she couldn't see it the way they did - it wasn't their daughter in there, after all.

_Do thìr, dìleas féin._

She supposed a good deal of the tension in their interactions came during Merida's teen years. Being a girl born to privilege, she had felt that her daughter needed to understand the responsibilities and obligations that came accordingly. Besides victors, mayors were the only people in the districts who could have any influence- which could be extremely little - in the Capitol.

_A ghrian a's a ghealach, stiùir sinn,_

Though Merida was bright enough to comprehend the complexities of the politics, her impatience for tedious tasks and her itch for adventure led her to hunting illegally over the fence, instead of studying at her table. When she first discovered Merida's 'hobby', she had forbidden it, of course, but that led to her stubborn daughter sneaking off in secret instead. So in the end it became an unspoken truce between them that Merida could hunt as long as she did her work as well.

_Gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir,_

Strangely enough, the District approved of Merida's moonlight activities when they discovered it. Perhaps it was largely due to her daughter's 'Robin Hood' tendencies in giving away the game - their home was wealthy enough to afford it. It made her a kind of local heroine, and in a little way, the neighborhood rebel to the harsh rule of the Capitol. Was that what Merida saw herself as? Or, was it something that she aspired to be? If her daughter had discussed this with her, Elinor would have argued firmly and convincingly that rebellion would result in nothing but severe punishment - the destruction of District 13 was evidence for that. History with the Capitol had spoken in favor of the compliant, but Merida could only know that if she had actually paid attention in her classes.

_Naoidhean bhig, ar rìbhinn òg,_

She supposed that given Merida's cunning and her desire to break free, the Hunger Games became her chosen path, and perhaps her daughter was right that it was the only way. But was it wise?The Games were fail-safed - there was no winning. Regardless of the glory and riches heaped on the victor, it couldn't be denied that the Capitol would take what was innocent and corrupt them. Merida was determined enough to fight for her freedom, and yes, she could very well earn it, but would she be willing to pay the price her freedom would cost?

_Maighdean uasal bhàn._

If it were up to herself, Elinor would have her daughter never know that answer.

* * *

><p><strong>District 2 <strong>

**8 Hours **

At times, he was a splitting image of his mother; he had her lean figure, her soft brown hair. If he wasn't always so caught up in trying to perfect his son, perhaps Stoick Haddock of the Peacekeeper District would have noted that Hiccup also inherited both her intelligence, and her awkwardness.

The tale of him and his beloved had been largely a controversial one, and it had remained so until tragedy took her from his side. Besides the issue of her origins, she had questioned far too much and accepted too few of the answers - not the expected the behavior of the mayor's wife, especially the mayor of the Capitol's pet district . Victor or not, she had faced a great deal opposition by the District 2 citizens, his council, and the ruling city itself, which advised his resignation from his post should he go forward with his marriage. But the Stoick the Vast was known for his stubbornness and he had made no regrets about marrying a woman of science.

The fireplace was glowing dim and steady, and he placed the freshly-carved wooden figure amongst the others above. He was about to return to his seat when his eyes strayed to a crude-made plush dragon that sat on the shelf.

Gingerly, he lifted it from its place, beating off the dust and soot that had settled on it. His wife had made it for Hiccup many years back, but the boy had been so afraid of it that it was never played with.

She had always feared for the boy's health - he was born prematurely, and got ill too easily and too often. However, he had been confident that Hiccup not only would grow to be strong lad, he'd be a doer of great things.

He wished that he still had that confidence.

The boy's interview had unearthed many disturbing questions: had he cared for the boy too much, or too little? Had his interactions with Hiccup always been so full of disappointment? Was his relationship with his only son so strained that the boy would only voice his griefs on television the night before he was carted off to imminent death?

Indeed, Stoick held no illusions about what the Games entailed. It was taught to the children of the District that being a tribute was a great honor - it was the basis on which their fighting nature was founded. Even as a boy, he had believed it himself. But Hiccup? Hiccup was not that boy.

Tomorrow would be all cheer and feasting as the district celebrated yet another year of gory Games. But there was nothing that their mayor would celebrate this year.

He had already lost his son the day he lost his wife. And come tomorrow, he'd lose the boy who looked like Valka.

* * *

><p><strong>District 12<strong>

**7 Hours**

A glow from the window is what sent him running over to the Arendelle house.

He had been working overnight at the Hob and was on his way back from when he saw it. He knew that Elsa - and many thrifty residents of the Seam - had a rule about conserving candlelight, and he knew the current lone resident of that house usually didn't do night hours. An open flame and a sleeping girl could result in hazardous consequences, after all.

A knock on the front door earned no response, so he opted for ignoring propriety and entered. He didn't even need to break in, since it wasn't even locked.

He found her hunched over a clay plate, muttering to herself as she drew the patterns its side. The cracked pieces of previous attempts sitting at her feet didn't escape his notice.

"What are you doing here?" She sniffled, dragging her marker across the plate as she drew up the lines and curves. In the dim candlelight, he observed that both her eyes and nose were still red, with a faint red scratches on her face, which he could only assume were the results of some fierce nose-wiping.

"I knocked," he answered simply, settling down opposite her.

She sniffed. "Oh, so you just barged in my home because it's okay to do that?"

He felt slightly peeved at her bitterness, but he pressed on, "Well, one, you didn't lock the front door." That earned a snort from her. "Two, YOU aren't okay."

"I'm in perfect mint-condition!" She almost shouted at him, before the plate slipped from her lap and crashed on the wooden floor, smashed to pieces.

"Great." With an annoyed huff, she swept the pieces away with side of her foot.

"You should get some rest," he told her, as he watched the pieces being scornfully cast aside.

She wiped her nose roughly, sniffing. "So what? You're my sister now?" Kicking one offending piece of clay, she got up, heading to the pile of clay plates. She muttered furiously, combing her hair back as she did, "Elsa was always the prettier one, the smarter one. Even my parents used to say so." She snatched up a blank plate. "I was totally okay with that - really, I can live with being the 'spare'! It's just that she always had girls dying to be her friend, and boys dying to be her valentine, but_ no!"_ She slammed herself back on the floor, edging the candle closer to herself. Biting off the cap of the marker, she held it between her teeth as she ranted, "She never wanted the company, whereas _I_, on the other hand,"- she spat the cap out -"wanted nothing more than a connection. Anything! Didn't get it from _them_, didn't get it from my _sister_!"

Kristoff shook his head pityingly at the girl. The week had taken a toil on her, obviously. It wasn't school that bothered her; classes had been largely on hold because of the Games. As for work-wise, Anna had been handling sales surprisingly well, thanks to her ferocity in bargaining. But the waiting had been difficult, and Kristoff feared that come morning, Anna's nerves would be permanently severed.

"I thought Hans understood, especially with his 'twelve older brothers' problem," she whimpered, her voice dropping an octave. Then her mouth curled into a frown. "But he had too like her too. And he didn't even acknowledge me! 'A few girlfriends'! Yeah, I love the cameo!" She scraped the poor marker across the plate, nearly ripping of its nib in process. "So much for open doors." She sniffed again.

It was against his personal interest to defend Captain Sideburns, but Kristoff put in, "You know, maybe it's just for show." Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - she wasn't listening. Kristoff sighed. He knew if he didn't stop her soon, Anna was going to work herself up in a frenzy. Maybe she was already in one, considering all the personal details he was getting.

Abruptly, she asked him, "How old are you?"

He blinked. "Eighteen."

"Huh." She snorted. "You actually look older."

"I was at the Reaping. How old can I be?"

She sniffed, ignoring his remark. "You like Elsa, don't you?"

That caught him off guard, and he hesitated before answering, "She's a nice person."

"You know I don't mean it that way," Anna drawled irritably, staring daggers at the plate. "Why else do you keep coming over and stuff?"

Kristoff opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. He was really amazed at how she hadn't figured it out yet. Was she blind, or was he so bad at communicating? "Well, your sister isn't here now, is she?"

Anna didn't pick it up at all. "You're just doing her a favor. Looking out for the kid sister." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, brushing off the dust from her lap before continuing the design.

That wasn't a false statement. On reaping day, just as the farewell session was ending and Peacekeepers were dragging them off, Elsa had yanked him over. She had pleaded, "Look after her. Please."

He had reassured her, "You needn't have asked."

She had searched his eyes and relaxed. The Peacekeepers had dragged him away after that.

He was a man of his word.

"You need to sleep, Anna."

"Why? So that I can wake up tomorrow, knowing that my sister and my so-called boyfriend are entering a fight to death?" She snapped, pressing the marker hard against the clay surface. The excessive pressure caused the ceramic disc to slip from her fingers, clattering to floor, splattering once again.

"Well, so that you can at least stop wasting candlelight, and breaking decent plates," he retorted, folding his arms. He liked Anna - he honestly did, but she could be very trying. Glancing at the mess, he made his mind. "Alright, you're sleeping over at my place."

"What!" She stamped a foot on the broken fragments, cracking it further.

"We've got a couch by the fireplace, big enough for you," he went on as if she hadn't spoken, "my mum won't mind, and you definitely shouldn't stay here alone." He grabbed her coat off the rack, rolled into a ball and threw it at her.

She caught it deftly, but she still looked mad. "I can look after myself fine, _thank you_."

"Sure you can," he murmured dryly. Throwing her boots over and casting a pair of gloves, he said, "Get dressed. It's cold outside."

"You can't make me go anywhere," she called out sullenly. "_Hey!_"

He picked her up by the waist and ungracefully swung her body over himself, such that her stomach rested on his shoulder. He was much larger than herself, and any kicks and punches she threw at him were as fruitful as swatting a tree trunk.

Blowing out the candle, he carried her out of the house, ignoring her yelling. He remembered to lock the doors before dragging her off down the road.

"You'll thank me later, feisty pants," he told her, not caring if the neighbors woke up due to her shrieks and curses.

He had promised Elsa that he'd look after her sister, but he hadn't specified how.

* * *

><p><strong>SN: **

**Hope y'all enjoyed the fresh POVs from Elinor, Stoick and Kristoff! **

**I hope Eugene's backstory in this AU makes sense. **

**The painting Rapunzel did here is the picture of the sun against a purple backing, same as the one she painted on the ground during the Kingdom Dance scene in Tangled.**

**'Noble Maiden Fair' here. If you're starting to get annoyed by songs, chill. I'm not going to make it happen every chapter, no matter the temptation.**

**Hiccup's plush dragon mentioned is from a 'Riders of Berk' episode. More about his mother would be revealed in the future.**

**If you're curious about what Anna's doing, she's actually marking out rosemaling designs on clay plates before painting them. As mentioned in chap 2, selling such plates and other decorated material is how she and Elsa made a living in this AU.**

**Does anyone notice Kristoff is kind of a 'Gale' figure? I didn't realize till I finished writing this.**

**Up Next: The Countdown end, and the Games begin.**

_**"-she needed him as much as he needed her-"**_

_**"-keep them from seeing the monster I am-"**_

_**-I've been waiting all year for this!"**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**AliceInNeverland95: Yes The surprise worked! Huzzah! Actually King Julian would work, I just realised...ah well, too late now. I'm not to familiar with the Madgascar franchise, but maybe next time I'll consider him again when I need a crazy character.**

**A way to uncreative girl: Win for me again! Glad you still enjoyed this chapter.**

**NaomilovesJelsa: It's not Helsa. I can promise that. I however cannot promise what they WON'T do during the games to save their own lives.**

**mariemarc: I'm glad you like this story but serious (whispers in ear) did you have the give spoilers. Kidding, actually everything's pretty obvious. BTW: You should recount the no. of people you listed. There are too many on your list. Don't worry about your syntax, it's really quite fine. I've seen English-speaking writer's do way worst.**

**Riverfall: Thank you! It was a bit difficult to put in some characters in the THG story (especially Rapunzel. LOL the whole orphan story was not from either disney or THG), but I'm glad you find it okay. I'm glad Merida's portrayal was convincing enough for you. Out of all the characters, I feel she's the one who can undergo the most transformation in this story, but honestly, all of them will. Yeah, Jack needs development. I hope eventually when I hit all his trademark scenes in this story, everything about him would make sense.**

**Guest: Congratulations on your guess. I hate you now. (Not really. Well come back in two seconds. Okay I'm done.)**

**ElvisRules41: So now that you've read his explanation, do you feel a teeny bit more merciful? He's not that bad... well, maybe.**

**Thanks for reading folks!  
>Review! Ask Questions! Critique!<strong>


	14. Chapter 13: Countdown

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 13: Countdown

* * *

><p><strong>District 10<strong>**  
><strong>**2 hours**

"Emma, come for breakfast."

The girl ignored her mother's call as she focused on the task at hand. Neatly folding back the pile of clothes and slipping it into the drawer, she shut it, and went om to the next one.

"Emma! You don't want to be late for school, do you?"

Her mother spoke of it not as a suggestion, but as a reminder. Everyone had to watch the Games - there was no arguing on that. Since they were too poor to own their own television set, they had to watch it in public areas - in Emma's case, school.

She pouted at the thought. She had never liked school that much, and this only made her hate it more. She wished her mother could call in sick for her, but that would mean that she would have to see the doctor, and that would mean that Ma would had to pay medical bills. She needed to be responsible now, and responsible meant saving money.

It was on in third drawer that she finally found the object she sought for. Flapping it loose and draping it over her shoulders, she kicked the drawer shut, before dashing out to the kitchen, which also served as their dining room. Two lunch pails sat on the table, and she slid into a chair near them. She cast a sad glance at the bigger pail.

"Ma?" She called for the taller lady, who was gingerly transferring a pancake from the pan to the plate, then place it in front of her. Emma quickly gave thanks and started eating, savoring every bit. Wheat was hard to come by in their district, so wheat pancakes were a rare treat.

"Wait, Emma," her mother halted her, before sprinkling just a little sugar on top of the pancake. "There. Now enjoy."

"Thanks, Ma." She dug in again, but she still needed let her mother know. "Um, Ma?"

"Yes, dear?" Her mother added a pancake to her own plate, before settling down herself. She handed Emma a glass of milk, and poured herself another glass. "Drink up."

"Ma," Emma said more firmly. The elder woman finally raised her head. Now that her mother was paying attention, she tapped the larger lunch pail sitting on the table.

The woman's face paled as she slowly understood. "Oh. I just forgot, I suppose." Mulling over it for a moment, she sighed, telling her daughter, "You might as well bring it down to school to share. It won't keep."

"Alright, Ma," Emma said, swallowing down the last bit of pancake. When her mother wasn't looking, she ran her finger over the plate, scraping up the last of the sugar before popping it into her mouth. Unfortunately, her mother glanced at her at the last moment.

"Emma, take your hands out of your mouth." Her chiding lacked her usual fervor, but Emma meekly did as she was instructed. She then took the plate and the empty glass to the sink, stepping on the little stool they had there, then washed then both thoroughly. Unconsciously, she handed the plate to her right, but there was no one there to take it. Sighing, she hopped off the stool, then shifted it over to drying rack. With the large rag in her small hands, she did her best to dry them all, stacking them up after she did.

"You'd best be going now," Ma told her, so she returned the rag and the stool to their usual place, jumping off, half-expecting to be caught up halfway and flung in the air. But none of it came.

When she went over to pick up the pails, she found her mother staring at her. Dropping to her knees, her mother fingered with the brown poncho the girl carried on her shoulders.

"Oh Emma," she whispered, shaking her head. "It's too big for you."

It was true; the poncho was practically sweeping the floor from where she was standing. But Emma insisted, "Ma, I want to wear it."

Her mother sighed and gave in. "Alright."

Ma then saw her to the door, as she shuffled her way through the snow. She hated shoveling snow, but if she wanted to help out at home, she would have take on this duty too. That would be the right thing to do.

Halfway to the road, she involuntarily peered behind her, expecting a snowball flying her way any moment. But nothing came.

She trudged on, with a lunch pail on each arm, one just a little too large for her.

* * *

><p><strong>45 minutes<strong>

"_This is it folks! In less than hour, we will be bringing you the live telecast of the 74__th__ Annual Hunger Games. Isn't that right, Sully?"_

"_Absolutely, Mike. All of you out there; count your odds and place your bets! Times's running short, so you better be quick."_

"_Hey, Sully, it's gonna pretty tough to pick who to bet on this year, don't you think?"_

"_Absolutely. There're quite a number of nines and tens, even one eleven!"_

"_Our favourite Head Gamemaker, Pitch Black, has also promised us quite an intriguing arena this year. I wonder why…"_

"_Does it matter? With this stellar set of tributes and an interesting arena, folks, grabs your chairs and sit tight! Coz' this is a game to die for…"_

* * *

><p><strong>30 minutes<strong>**  
><strong>  
>"Shh, it's okay."<p>

He caressed her golden head gently, his heart wrenching at every sob she made. He was glad that they had been early enough to catch the elevator empty. It would have been bad for her image if any other tributes saw her right now. Not that her image was an immediate concern.

He had been in the same spot before, scared out his wits. His mentor had been no great comforter, and he knew he wasn't either, but he swore that he would be there for his mentee - this mentee, at least, even if that meant giving a shoulder to cry on. Literally.

"I'm gonna die," her muffled voice came through the tears, and his coat. It was genuine leather and cost a fortune, but he didn't really care if she ruined it. It didn't matter. In a matter fact, nothing mattered other than the fact that this incredibly bright, beautiful girl was in his arms, and she was bawling her eyes out.

"No, you're not," he told her firmly, despite his own doubts, holding her closer. He glanced up at the screen above the doors. There were only ten floors to go, then the Peacekeepers would take her to the ships.

"Blondie." He drew her back, holding her at arms' length, looking straight into her eyes. "The others are strong, but you're no push-over. You've got darts, you've got hair. You can do this." She seemed unconvinced, with tears still streaming down her cheeks. Brushing back the blonde strands falling over her face, he reminded her, "You're stronger than you look. You said it yourself."

She shook her head disbelievingly, her lip trembling. "I'm not going to make it."

"Yes, you are," he contradicted. Fishing through his pockets, he handed her a little brooch, shaped like a sun. "The Corona's told me to give you this. I told them you liked suns. Said it belonged to their daughter, or something."

She forgot her fears for a moment, examining the ornament's craft. Small, clear crystals studded its surface, making the little sun seem to glow in her palm.

"Suns are all about hope, right?" He went on, as he wiped the droplets off her face. "Well, the Coronas put their hope in you. I've put my hope in you. You need to start putting some hope in yourself. Promise me, Blondie."

"I can't," she protested weakly, a stray tear tumbling down.

"You have to try. Promise me."

She gulped, bravely holding it back, her fearful green eyes meeting his assuring brown ones. "I…I promise."

The elevator halted. They were here.

"Don't worry about the reptile. I'll care for him," he assured her, as the doors swept open. "You look after yourself."

She nodded, with dread and determination written over her face.

The Peacekeepers were waiting at the door, but he decided waiting a little more wouldn't kill them. On a moment of impulse, he drew her back in a fierce embrace.

"I'll be waiting at the finish line," he whispered, barely able to keep his voice from cracking. Reluctantly letting her go, the Peacekeepers took her by the arms, and led her away. Her gleaming blonde braid was the last he saw before the doors shut.

He grimaced, laughing bitterly at himself. This is why he ignored his last few mentees. He couldn't bear getting to know them, and then watching them all die in bloody battle. With Rapunzel, he broke too many of his own rules and let her get too close.

And now? He cared too much, and he was paying for it.

The metal box started up again, shooting upwards. It would take him to back to the city, where he could view the Games from the millions of screen all over the streets.

He could choose to ignore them, like what he did before; abandon her to her sad but inevitable end. But right now, he knew that was no longer an option. If she had to be in there, he would be there for her, right here.

Because he knew that she needed him as much as he needed her.

* * *

><p><strong>20 minutes<strong>**  
><strong>  
>Find a bow. Find a bow.<p>

It had become practically a mantra, but really, it was but a wish. What if they decided spite her, and not put a bow in? Or if they did, would they'd put it close to the Horn? She knew too well about the notorious Cornucopia that marked the centre of each arena - it was the honey that attracted the flies to the web.

She groaned in annoyance as she set her red curls back against the metal-plated seats. All these thoughts were killing her - and in less than hour, they very well might.

Discouraged by her pondering, she scanned the cabin around her. There were still other tributes being loaded up the hovercraft. She counted twelve in total, which suggested that there was another hovercraft carrying the same number to the arena as well.

She leaned back, placidly observing the company surrounding her. It was a pity that the District 11 girl - her name was Van? Val? - wasn't here, because Merida would have welcome her cheeky spunk right now. Wee Dingwall wasn't present either, so there was no one whom she could heap her disgust onto right now. Or her nervousness.

Instead, she found herself under the careful scrutiny of the boy from District 1, the hardened glare from the District 2 girl and the amused smirk of the boy from District 4. The attentions of the Career Pack were rather disturbing, and she found herself reluctantly squirming under their collective gazes. However, her fingers went to the pin on her collars and she breathed in deeply. She'd challenge them all, and she'd take them down. She could do this, if only she kept telling herself so.

"Your arm." She swung around, finding a Capitol attendant standing with a large needle gun in front of her.

The attendant repeated, "Your arm."

Obeying, Merida lifted her left arm to the lady. The attendant then slid the needle into her skin, and Merida observed as a glowing blue bead flow from gun into her arm. She asked, slightly anxious, "What's that?"

The attendant didn't answer, and simply moved on the next tribute. Merida stuck her tongue at the attendant when her back was turned, before peering closely at the scar on her arm again.

"Hey, genius."

She didn't know how she knew that was meant for her, but she did, and she glanced up.

Sitting opposite her was the spiky-haired boy from District 3. His arms were folded and his shoulders swung back. Merida half-envied how relaxed he seemed. He shot her a playful grin.

"That's your tracker." He nodded at his own left arm. "Gamemakers don't want to lose you in the arena." Merida looked down her arm again, trying to trace the location of the bead.

Raising her head again, she noted that the boy wore a metal armband on his injected arm - his token, she suspected. It was plain silver, but Merida could see that there were many intricate cravings made around it. They seemed rather odd to her, but she supposed that they meant something to the boy of the technological district.

"Nice armband," she complimented out loud without meaning to. From the corner of eye, she was uneasy that the Careers still appeared interested in whatever she had to say.

The boy didn't seem offended, but Merida couldn't help noting the shadow that passed over his face. "Thanks," he replied grimly. "It's my brother's."

* * *

><p><strong>5 minutes<strong>**  
><strong>  
>"No gloves?"<p>

"It's standardized attire for all tributes - which is why they're so unfashionable,"-Olaf sniffed with disapproval, "-and sometimes gloves are considered an advantage in the Games. C'mon-" he spun her around as he slipped the loose fitting overcoat over her shoulders. It was thin, but warm, like the black pants and shirt she had been given. The boots were only half-way up her calf, while her hands were obviously bare.

She rubbed her pale fingers against each other, her nervousness turning to anxiety. "But Olaf, I can't do this without gloves."

"Sure you can," the stylist disagreed confidently, "You did it in the parade, You sort of did it yesterday too. You can do it today."

The parade was an hour, and possible the longest she had ever done. The interview was less than thirty seconds. Both times she was protected by a cover story, but this time? She had run out of masks.

"Do you really know why I wear gloves, Olaf?" she asked impatiently - too impatiently, to the point that it was almost angry.

"Errr...,"Olaf raised his finger at her, about to answer, but stopped to ponder instead, hanging his mouth open as he did. "I think so?"

"No, you don't," Elsa snapped with sudden fury. "You're just a naive simpleton who thinks everything's okay. And that's fine for you because you're born in the Capitol and you've never had to get reaped!"

The stylist had taken several steps back during her outburst, shock plainly displayed on his face. That was when she knew she had gone too far. Collapsing into a steel chair, she buried her face in her hands, but soon after she had to pull her hands away. Her misplaced anger had taken form in frost pattern in her hands, so she stuffed her glowing palms into her hoodie pockets.

After what felt like years, the little man broke the silence. "I know you're stressed but that was harsh."

"I know." She hung her head guiltily, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry."

He was the one of nicest people she had ever met in the Capitol - correction, one of nicest people ever. And here she was, lashing out her fears and frustration at this sweet little man. Why did she keep doing this to those who cared about her?

Olaf seemed to accept the apology, but he still appeared troubled. "Maybe I don't understand a lot of things, Elsa," he glanced down at his own wiry hands, "but when you are wearing something like gloves all the time, it just shows that you're hiding."

"But hiding is good," she argued, though her words felt like the hollow echoes of what she had repeated to herself constantly. "It keep others safe." - she hugged herself around her stomach, the volume dropping several notches - "It keeps people from seeing me as the monster I am."

Olaf was quick to insist, "You're not a monster."

Elsa only shifted her body away, balling her palms into fists. "The minute I enter the arena, you'll change your mind."

Still, the stylist shook his head. "You're wrong, Elsa," he said, as he bent over to where she was, helping her to fasten her coat right. "You're brave, and smart, and loyal. You love your sister very much. You honor your parents. You're nice to me - well, most of the time," he edited after a moment. "But you're a good person Elsa." When he pulled back, she was realized what he had just attached the pin to her shirt collar - the crocus coal-craft pin that Anna had given to her as a parting gift.

This was all for her sister, and that made it worth it.

A beep and whirr announced the opening of tubes. This transparent little lift, small enough for only one, would transport her straight into the lion's mouth.

"Last hug!" Olaf squealed, before folding his arms around her. Almost instantly, he jumped back, shivering. "Brrr! I usually like warm hugs, but you're way too cold."

She winced, shrouding back. "Sorry."

Olaf shrugged. "Hey, it's cool. The hot, the cold, they're both so intense. Put them together, it just makes sense."

She smiled at his little rhyme, but it faded when she slipped into the tube. At once, the doors shut behind her, and she felt the plate below herself rising up.

Against her will, she could feel her hands burning bright blue, so she began muttering, "Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel. Don't feel, don't feel..."

* * *

><p><strong>2 minutes<strong>

He honestly anticipated much in this year's Games. He had invested so much into its creation and design, and he was certainly fortunate to have such an interesting cast of players. These Games were filled so much mystery and excitement that he wondered how would he ever design the third quarter quell at this rate.

It was the administrative aspects that bored the tears out of him.

"The tributes are all the tubes, Sir," one of the Gamemakers behind the desk told him.

"Well, then send them up, you idiot," he snarled bitingly, causing the Gamemaker to jump to work immediately. One of the morons finally decided to switch on the holographic projector and show the panoramic view of the Arena. So he ascended the stairs, to the dais that stood above the entire Game room. He took the moment to soak in the both his masterpiece, and the work that went behind its creation.

He smirked with pride as he watched the millions of pieces of his plans fall together, rolling as smooth as the gears of clock. On the upper screens, there were twenty-four glowing names listed. Less the five minutes from now, most of them would disappear.

"All cameras are in place, sir," a Gamemaker told him.

"Televisions in all district public squares are live and functioning," another informed.

"Permission to start the countdown, sir?" A Gamemaker asked, his finger poised over the fatal button.

Pitch narrowed his brows at the last one, causing the room to still for a moment as all readied themselves for a coming rage. However, the pale man simply threw his head back and cackled.

"Why, of course!" he exclaimed, a deep grin carved onto his gray face. "I've been waiting all year for this!"

He watched with wicked excitement as the tributes rose to the surface, into the beautiful gameboard that he crafted so specially for them.

Oh boy, was he going to have fun.

* * *

><p><strong>60 seconds<strong>

The first thing Jack saw was white, searing his pupils like razors. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to brightness and color poured into vision.

His pulse was racing and his muscle tensed up. He shook his arms and legs, trying to drive of the anxiety. He needed to focus.

The first thing he observed was the enormous metal structure shaped like a horn in front of him; the Cornucopia. As Bunnymund had explained to him, the best weapons and survival material were all within the Horn itself. While there were many weapons and food stuff scattered around the Horn as well, their effectiveness and usefulness decreased with increased distance from the arena centre.

Five steps to his right there was a plastic bag, and ten steps to his left a flashlight. No food stuff in immediate vicinity.

His attentions were then shifted to the terrain. He was puzzled by the many different landscapes that he saw around him. Behind him, he could see a snowy, hilly terrain, with orderly aligned frost-covered pine trees, but across the arena he noted that there were thick tangled of greyish-green shrubs and trees growing on rocky ground. On his left he saw red and yellow leaves falling from maples and oaks, and on his right he saw lush, green birches and willows mixed with flower-growing shrubs.

Then it suddenly made sense; the arena was divided into the four seasons.

He had to admit it was rather elaborate, even by Capitol standards. Many of the previous years' games usually just had one terrain, but this year had four? That was quite remarkable.

He noted that the grounds of the Cornucopia were none of the terrains, just green grass against blue sky. However, he observed that twelve huge stones, all oblong rectangular blocks, stood evenly spaced in a circle outside that of the tributes, such that every three stones marked each quarter.

It was only now that his brain registered the counting that was going on. It was already forty seconds, and he could fill a building stress in the tributes around him.

He scanned all them quickly, his eyes only stopping when they met those of his District mate. She was standing in front of the spring quarter, in between the gigantic tribute from District 11, and the small boy from District 3. She gave him a nod in acknowledgement, then jerked her head behind her, indicating that she wanted them to meet at her position. He nodded as well to show he understood. It was a long run, but he calculated if he swung back and ran outside the circle of stones, he could easily meet her in the spring quarter. As they had agreed earlier, neither of them would take anything from the Horn.

He forced himself to take deep breaths as the voice of James 'Sully' Sullivan – the other presenter of the Games, whose fame was only matched by Mike's - read the numbers in descending order. He shut eyes for a moment, allowing the cool breeze behind him to sooth his nerves. He imagined that Emma watching him, her huge brown eyes fixed to the screen, whispering quietly, "I believe, I believe..."

He opened his eyes, exhaling slowly. He had to believe in himself. Believe, and _not die_.

* * *

><p><strong>30 seconds<strong>**  
><strong>  
>Hiccup would have thrown up by now if he hadn't known about the mines attached to bottom of the plate.<p>

It was a safety precaution. There were mines at the bottom of each tribute's plate, set to go off should any of them step of the plate before the countdown was complete. Unfortunately, the mechanism was non-discriminatory, as discovered by a sad District 3 tribute some years back who had dropped her token off the plate at twenty seconds. Her plate had exploded promptly, and so did she.

His odds of survival were already minuscule - he didn't to shrink them any further.

He had already worked out his plan; run forward, grab as much stuff as he can, ran back to the place behind him right now. He hoped that the harsh, rocky terrain would deter anyone from chasing him down, especially the Career Pack.

Frankly, he felt that he didn't really need to worry about them to much. From what he observed, it seems that the Careers have already set their sights on the District 5 girl - the one that got a smack eleven for her training score. Obviously, they must have agreed to take down the strongest first, but taking out any weak stragglers along the way was still do-able.

His eyes fell on the only blonde of the Careers. Her bright blue eyes were narrowed forward, her back arched front with her weight on her front foot. Her expression was deadly calm, as it often was before battle.

He had often remarked dryly that she wouldn't come near him even if she was on fire and he had the only bucket of water in the world. However, right now, he hoped against all hope that she'd stay away from him. He wanted his last memory of to be this; the bold, beautiful shield-maiden he had admired from afar growing up; not as the axe-murderer who was going to break his bones, chop up his ribs and rip out his entails.

He huffed. He had to give himself that thought, didn't he?

A loud noise startled him off his plate. Snapping eyes shut automatically, he was surprised that he wasn't blown to pieces at that moment.

Daring a peek out, he realized that everyone was already ran off the plates.

He was slightly peeved. He had to miss it, didn't he?

Picking his bony self, he sprinted forward with the little speed he had.

The Games had begun.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:****  
><strong>**It's here at last. Scream! ****Btw, I wrote this chapter during my vacation on my phone too. So… I wrote a total of four chapters on my phone. Completely.**

**Just as Mike is Caesar in this story, Sully is Cladius Templeton (if you don't know, it's the other weird looking presenter in the Games that doesn't go on stage).**

**The Four Season design of the Arena was inspired by the Catching Fire Arena, and also because I didn't want to do the generic forest.****  
><strong>**This also pays tribute (hah the pun) one of the most common AUs of the Big Four (which was before Frozen came out) - 'the Guardians of the Seasons' AU, which lots of fanart and fanfiction are based on.**

**The circle of stones that surround the tributes are the Callanish stones, the same ones from Brave, but in the movie I think there are only eleven stones, compared to this one which has twelve.**

**From now on, I'll be refering to each season-based section of the arena as Quarters e.g. Spring Quarter, Summer Quarter, in all POVs to prevent confusion, even though in real life, people would give things different names.****  
><strong>

**In you didn't understand the explanation in the chapter…**

**Clarification for the Arena Design:**

**Imagine the entire Arena as a big circle and divide it into even four quarters. Each quarter has a different season, and all seasons are in consecutive order; Summer, Spring, Autumn, Winter. So Summer is opposite Winter, and Autumn opposite Spring. Duh much, eh?**

**Then imagine a smaller circle drawn in the centre of the arena – this is the Cornucopia grounds, which has no particular season, just grass. This smaller circle is marked by the twelve Callanish stones. Every set of three stones is facing a different quarter. **

**Then within the smaller circle is the smallest circle, where all the tributes are standing along at the Countdown, then the Horn is right at the centre.**

**Up Next: Bloodbath Part 1 & 2.**

**No quotes, but I think 'gloveless-and-frightened Elsa' should give you enough anticipation material.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Thank you everyone for your responses. For the last two chapters, I guess the most discussed character has been Hans. To be perfectly honestly, I like the guy, but not because I think he's secretly a nice guy or anything, but because I think he's really cunning and diabolical. Throughout the entire Frozen, he managed to twist every single event to his favor just to win, while pulling off a façade of nice-ness. I have to admire that of a villain. **

**Btw, if it seems like I'm posting stuff really fast, it may be due to my desire to finish this story as quickly as possible. Not because I want to, but when New Year comes, I won't be able to update so frequently anymore, so yeah… I should actually go and do my holiday homework…urgh…**

**Mailbox: **

**A way to uncreative girl: I'm really glad you like this chapter. I actually liked this chapter a lot too, but largely because of the parents' POVs. Is that odd? **

**SmilingStarcat: Considering the numerous parallels I keep making in this story, I think how I twist Hans into this story will be interesting enough (yes, he's a douchebag, and fanfiction should not redeem him. He's better that way), and I hope that what I do with Jack would be equally so too. You got your wish! The arena is largely forest alright, but I hope the four season design piques your interest. **

**ElvisRules41: Hans is so crushed by your lack of love for him - nah, I don't care about what Hans feels. I loved writing Kristoff – he's so inappropriate sometimes, but he knows what to do.**

**Guest: Thank you! I notice I still make lots of slip up and I do edit it, just that I'm too lazy upload the edited versions. I'm glad it's still largely readable though.**

**NaomilovesJelsa: No don't die! My hands are equipped with defribrilators! (If you don't get this ref, it's fine) Okay, glad everything is okay. **

**mariemarc44: Thank you for your really long review! I'm glad you like Eugene's story – it was a headache, alright. I never really saw Hans/Peeta a parallel either, actually…I just added that part to shock everyone, but I didn't notice the obvious. Okay, it actually has relevance to the story, but that's later. Am I not giving Jack enough screentime? Oops, but don't worry about Jack – his role in this story is quite different from the others, and it maybe even weird, but definitely important. I only hope that when I reveal how he fits, it would be mind-blowing! (or at least it just wouldn't suck to badly ),****As for who will be saved, I'll just tell you the right word is 'including'. ****Well, both Katniss and Merida carry bows, so it's not that surprising – that's why so many fanarts usually place Merida in District 12, but not me. She lacks the sister.**

**GameboyNingaUltimate Icarus: Thank you! I really want this to be a good Hunger Games story, but I'm not sure if you would like the deviations I'm gonna make, because they are HUGE, but hopefully it stays faithful to the spirit. Urgh, I dunno. Can't promise anyone not dying, not even Elsa. I'm not actually a huge fan of Jelsa, but because some of it would fit well in this story.**

**salazar sassmaster: I'm glad you like this story. I can't promise to finish it, because I really never got past finishing a story of 8 chapters. But I really hope that I'll finish it. **

**Awsomaniatica: I'm glad you liked their interview parts, but my biggest worry with all of them is that actually they all ended up talking about home (except Rapunzel, who didn't have much of one) - because I'm hopeless cheesy that way. I liked writing from the home point of view. In the movie - when they were doing the countdown and showed the reactions of those in District 12 – I thought it was one of the best parts. **

**Thanks for reading folks! **

**Review! Critique! Ask questions! **


	15. Chapter 14: Bloodbath Part 1

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 14: Bloodbath Part 1

* * *

><p><strong>Note: T for Violence and Death<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Get the bow. Get the bow.<em>_  
><em>  
>The ringing of the gong still vibrated in her head, though its sounding had long past. Her boots beat against the grass, her curls flying back like a cape, her chest heaving violently as she plunged forward.<p>

Many of the tributes had already begun picking up weapons from the ground and fighting. At the corner of her eye, she noted as two redheaded boys struggling against each other. The larger was obviously stronger, but the smaller wielded a sword, and he was good at it.

She pressed on. There was no time to waste.

Before the games begun, she had already spotted her prize located just outside the Horn, facing the Autumn Quarter. She unfortunately started at the Summer Quarter, which means she had some running to do.

A whizzing sound warned her in time of an attack, and she ducked. Whipping her head around, she noted the District 1 girl squinting in her direction, with her arm poised high as she readied another dagger. However, a cry near the spring quarter distracted the dark-haired girl, and she promptly sped off instead.

Stopping to grab a small black pouch along the way, Merida dashed across the grass, refusing to let the growls and shrieks get to her. She kept a weather eye for anymore Careers though. They were out to get her, after all.

_Get the bow. Get the bow._ That's all that mattered.

As she approached the side of the Horn that faced the Autumn Quarter, she was appalled by the view of the District 6 boy sitting on the chest of a small weak boy, laughing maniacally as he tightened his grip around the latter's neck. A large mace sat at his foot, but the District 6 boy had obviously chosen the method of execution for the suffering it would inflict rather than its speed.

She forced the bile down as she kept running.

She skidded to a stop when she reached her destination; in front of a black box, a bow and quiver lay. She swung the quiver around shoulder hastily, then picked the bow up. Behind her she could hear a commotion coming from Cornucopia and a shock of cold suddenly passed through her, but she brushed it off, focusing on escaping from the arena centre as quickly as possible. That meant heading to the Autumn Quarter.

While she ran, she risked a peek behind herself. A whole lot of ice and snow had suddenly appeared around the Horn, and it seemed to have most of the Careers distracted. She was puzzled herself, but for now, she was grateful for the escape route. Of course, she thought too soon.

_Swoosh! _She caught the sound in time and tumbled out of the way as a huge, double-bladed axe came flying past her. Craning her neck up to see her assailant, she grimaced when she realized it was the blonde girl from District 2.

Swinging herself up and get to her knees, she removed an arrow and aimed at the blonde. The girl was too fast though, and she rolled deftly out of the way, over to where her axe stood. Merida loaded another arrow and released, but with her axe, the girl slashed at the arrow in mid-flight, slicing it in half with her axe. The Career then charged forward with the axe, yelling as she raised it. Merida fumbled to her feet, her fingers struggling to set the next arrow, but the girl was getting too close. Merida's panting accelerated rapidly; as yet another arrow went astray. Her feet stubbornly remained rooted to ground just the District 2 tribute was three feet from her and the axe ten inches from her head...

...when the blonde was fiercely tackled to the ground by a screaming yellow blur.

Merida only could gape on as she discovered her savior to be none other Wee Dingwall. He was unarmed and unskilled, but his frenzied bites and kicks was sufficient put up a fight against the blonde girl. The girl managed to break away from him once, trying to retrieve her axe up from the grass, but he yanked her back by her braid.

"Run Merida!" Hearing him say anything coherent was the strange sound, and Merida could only stare on in astonishment.

Despite his advantage of surprise, the odds eventually swung back to the District 2 girl's favor with her greater strength. Not before long, she had him in headlock. Though he flailed and griped about, the girl only tightened her arm around his neck, struggling to get a grip on his skull.

Merida then snapped out of her freeze. Removing another arrow, she loaded it and aimed for the taller blonde. All she needed was the kill the District 2 girl and Wee Dingwall would be free.

But she couldn't.

Her arm kept shaking and her fingers were trembling. Sweat rolled off her brow like a river. She couldn't kill a killer. What was wrong with her? This was a family friend. He practically grew up with her, though she never really interacted with him. He had just saved her life; she needed to save his.

She watched as the girl clenched her teeth, pulling the boy tighter to herself. She shot a hard glare at Merida, daring her to make her move.

Merida exhaled, drawing back the arrow, but it kept slipping from her fingers. She told herself to think it as hunting. Just pretend that the Career was a beast– a vicious beast, not a girl who seemed barely her age.

Her arms were trembling too badly, and her vision was starting to blur. _She couldn't do it._

Her eyes met those anxious ones from Wee Dingwall's usually impassive face. In silence, she tried to communicate how sorry she was, and awaited an accusatory glare.

She received none. Instead, the boy jerked his head back hard, colliding had with the blonde's. She staggered back slightly, but she still managed to grab his arm and toss him face first to the ground. Her hands found their way to her axe handle, and she poised it over his head. The blonde boy on the grass didn't seem to care though. With the last of breath of his lungs, he cried, "Run!"

The redheaded girl turning, running like she had never run before. She heard a war cry from the blonde girl and a crunch of bones, but she didn't look back, not even to see if the girl gave chase. A sob escaped her throat as she hurried into the safety of the oaks. Though the place was so similar to her favorite hangout back home, she couldn't enjoy it now. All she felt was guilt eating away her soul.

Wee Dingwall, whom she had made fun of all her life, had died for her, all because she couldn't shoot the damned arrow.

She went as far as her legs could carry her, pushing past shrubs and hopping over stones, her feet thrashing through the damp red leaves. Fiercely wiped away her tears, she vowed to herself; the next time she could get the shot, she was going for the kill.

* * *

><p>Hiccup's momentary lapse of focus had fortunately been more helpful than not. Most faster tributes ended up picking weapons and fighting each other, while he, the somewhat newcomer, had largely been ignored. He ponder if they avoided him due to his District number, or because they though him too weak to be a threat. Neither reason was very appealing to his ego, anyhow.<p>

Whatever the case, he managed to reach Cornucopia relatively unscathed. Keeping an eye out for any other tributes, he quickly set to work to gather everything he needed; nets, rope, a small hatchet, nails, even a set of bolas. He even found a small toolbox consisting of a spanner, a small saw and a light battery-operated drill, as if it were all made perfectly for his size and strength. _'Thank you, training sessions,'_ he thought as he picked the box. The only things missing from his list were the carbon-core arrows, but he was already grateful that he could obtain this much stuff.

The equipment he rolled up in the net, then tied the bundle with ropes to his back. Every now and then, tributes, largely the Careers, whipped into the Cornucopia, but no one saw his tiny self hiding behind the larger tents and shields as he worked. Once, his heart almost dropped when he heard a fight starting in the Horn, but eventually it faded off as the battle carried on outside. Eventually he escaped the metal cave, again unscathed.

It was outside the Horn that things started getting weird. There was a lot of screaming and shouting towards the winter quarter, and an unnerving amount of ice formations everywhere. That wasn't the worst though. The sounds of bones breaking and weapons slashing and people crying, added with the adrenaline pumping in his veins, were enough to drive him crazy. With all his equipment strapped to his back, he dashed back to his plate, praying he would make it past the stones and into the summer quarter before anyone realized what an easy target he was.

_Wham!_ He wasn't attacked, but he might as well been. His head was spinning crazily as he picked himself up from the grass, squinting at what had ruined his clean exit. He found a girl's eyes staring at him through glass lens.

"You," she breathed out, slowly getting to her knees. Hiccup mimicked her actions, cautiously searching her for any threat. However, all he could see though was a girl just as frightened as he was.

His eyes flitted to the ground, where his neat roll had been unwound, his nets tangled up in the District 3 girl's backpack. The hatchet had fallen out of the bundle, onto the grass, and he needed only reach over to grab it, but somehow he never took that very seriously.

Oddly, the girl started talking to him. "Hiccup, I need to-"

Loud cracking sounds across the field that cut her short, and a terrible yet frightened voice cried out, "Stay back!" More large ice structures rose up from the ground near the Horn.

Both tributes were stunned for a moment, but he recovered first. Picking up the net, he tried to shake the bag off, but it wouldn't budge. Closer examination revealed that the bolas' ropes and nets were all deeply snagged into the straps of red bag. If he wanted to separate them without cutting them up – and he _really_ didn't want to cut the nets; his entire plan rested on them – he would have to take the time untangle them; precious time that could make the difference between life and death.

Grimly, he rolled up the nets loosely before dragging it away, till the girl realized what he was doing.

"Hey!" She yelled, grabbing the red bag caught in the net, "I need this!"

"Well, I need the net and it won't come loose," Hiccup explained quickly, his eyes darting around for attackers. He nodded another bag lying a few feet from the. "Take that one."

"No, I need _this_ bag," the girl insisted, her grip only tightening as she tugged it back.

"Well, _I _need the net," Hiccup replied stubbornly, pulling back on the bag.

The girl refused to let go. "You don't understand. We – I really need this-"

_Yank._ "Well, I'm really sorry, but I want to live too-"

"Give me my bag!" _Tug. _"You don't realize it, but if-"

"You need to let go! We're too exposed right now! " He scanned around frantically for any attackers, but with all these random icicles around, they could be anywhere. _Pull._ "Please don't make this any harder than it is-"

"You let go, you son of a - _Hiro!_"

Another wave of ice sweeping between the spring and winter quarters caught the blonde attention. Taking the advantage of the distraction, Hiccup swiped the whole net from her hands, then speeding away, with it falling behind him. He prayed that all the items would stay in the bundle, though he already dropped the hatchet during the debacle.

"Hey!" He heard the blonde girl shout behind him, her light steps falling behind. "Hiccup, stop please! Tell you what! Why do we be al-_AIIIIIKKKK_!"

He hadn't gone back when she had yelled for him, but when she screamed, he swung around instantly. Her straight orange-blonde was stained sticky red. Through her misty glasses, she gazed down at her bloodied torso, where only a dagger's hilt protruded from her stomach.

Just as she collapsed to the grass, Hiccup had traced the source of the attack near Cornucopia. A boy with red-white hair watched them like a hawk on the hunt. A flick of his wrist sent another dagger whizzing, heading straight for Hiccup. It would have struck him down, if the District 2 boy hadn't taken a step back.

A second later he found himself on the ground and staring at the sky while a silvery object shot flew above him. When he sat himself up, he found himself on a trail of ice, which had started at a tribute plate next to his own, and led all the way to the Horn.

He couldn't waste time contemplating what this could mean though, because he was too busy gasping at the District 1 boy. A few calls beyond the Cornucopia stole the Career's attention, and he vanished behind the metal structure.

Hiccup was tempted to take up the net and sprint off, but his heartstrings forbade him to. Against his better judgment, he found himself kneeling next to the District 3 girl, who was breathing too quickly and too shallowly.

The sight of blood made Hiccup feel faint, but he forced himself to stay conscious. "Hey, Honey," he tried to sound comforting, looking at the girl's pained eyes to avoid glancing at her wound. "We're going to take this nice and slow-"

She pulled the dagger out, allowing the blood run.

"-and you've just halved your time," he finished dryly, squirming at the added streams of red. He gestured helplessly at the leaking wound, despairing. "_Why_ would you do _that_?"

"_Five. Only five_," she wheezed out. "Hiro..."

The boy had no idea what to do. Vaguely recalling some of the first aid he had learnt in training, he ripped out some the excess cloth from his coat – which was plentiful - and tried to plug the cut, but the rivers of red just kept flowing. Her mutterings bothered him. Was she getting delusions already? Should he correct her that he wasn't her black-haired friend?

An explosion shook the Arena for moment. Hiccup's head shot up as he observed as a cloud of ice burst into the blue sky, before falling down as frost and snowflakes. A single, large cliff of ice had formed before the Horn, effectively shielding them from possible assailants located nearer the winter and autumn quarters. For now, it was just him and the girl. Maybe he could take the time.

He grimaced. He had to take the time. Whether he liked it or not, this was his fault.

She coughed, blood spurting from her wound as she did, and started to shiver. Hiccup begun taking off his jacket, hoping to warm her, but she stopped him by grabbing his wrist.

"Hiro...," she murmured again, her eyes gazing unfocusedly at him through the red-splattered glass.

Hiccup sucked in an uneasy breath, trying not to let the smell of iron get to him. He made a scan for the black-haired boy, but with all thick ice barricades, he couldn't see for sure.

"Hiro's gone," he lied. When he saw how the girl's eyes widened in alarm, he immediately rephrased, "I mean, ah, he's not at the Horn anymore. I think he escaped."

The girl relaxed, slumping herself back on the grass. Her shaking hands went to her wrist, as she tried to remove her armband. Hiccup immediately helped her to slip it off before handing it to her. However, the girl refused to take it back.

"...Keep...Hiccupyou…keep...five...yougood," she drawled, her words slurring as her eyes started to lose focus. She weakly pressed the band back in his hands, giving him a smile. She shut her eyes, then her head dropped back, and her arm fell limp.

A lump grew at the back of his throat, as he solemnly gathered up the equipment, including the red bag. The bloodied armband he wore on his left arm, the same way she did. With his equipment strapped to his back, he hurried into the summer quarter, only glancing back once at the District 3 girl.

Ruefully, he twisted the band around his arm. Even if it wasn't his hand who delivered the killing blow, he knew that the robotics prodigy would refuse to see it otherwise. Regardless of what he did now, in Hiro's eyes, Hiccup Haddock would always be associated with the death of his blonde bespectacled friend.

Hiccup ran doggedly over the rugged ground, but his heart mourned the death of an innocent girl, and his only possible alliance.

* * *

><p><em>'I'm going to die.'<em>

_'I'm stronger than I look.'_

_'I'm going to die.'_

_'I'm stronger than I look.'_

Millions of opposing thoughts kept flitting through her head, and she was quite surprised she could accomplish anything at all. When the gong had sounded, she had managed to leap off her plate instantly. Following Eugene's instructions, she had only grabbed whatever was closest to her - a bag pack and a bottle of water. She had been tempted to pick up more, but she had resisted, turning on her heel as she headed away from the Horn, into the spring quarter, near where she had started at.

That was when she was yanked by her hair, then tossed like a doll to the ground.

She was tried to get back up, but a heavy hand forced her back. She squirmed, horrified as she watched a machete was raised high above her, with a dark sneer appearing on the lips of the District 7 tribute.

"Lights out, Blondie," the huge, boorish girl snarled cruelly.

Rapunzel never meant to, but a scream escaped her lips, and when she had started, she couldn't stop.

It must have disturbed the District 7 tribute, because her attacker flinched back for a moment. Taking her chance, Rapunzel groped desperately around the grass, her hand managing to pick up something metallic. With a cry of fear and anger, she swung the metal object at the attacking girl, managing to smack her in the face. The redheaded tribute roared in agony, dropping the weapon just inches from Rapunzel's face, and fortunately nowhere near her hair. The blonde scrambled to her feet, one arm grabbing into her braid, while the other gripping tightly on the frying pan that had saved her life. She had lost all her supplies, and if she didn't hurry, she would lose her life.

"I'll kill you, Goldilocks!" the redhead screamed behind her. "Just you wait!"

Rapunzel kept moving forward, heading out towards the stones before the spring quarters. Unfortunately, rocks along the way – ice? – got in her path and she found herself tumbling over them. She didn't fall, but the lost speed gave the District 7 tribute a chance to narrow the gap. Her heart was beating faster than the speed of sound, and her palms were sweating so much she could hardly feel the frying pan slipping. The horrible cries her pursuer made only served to unnerve her further, as her boots were starting burn into her soles.

As fast as she was, the assailant could keep up too well, and Rapunzel could almost feel the breath of the other girl behind her. She heard shrieks and calls somewhere near the Horn, but she couldn't really pay attention, not with the machete that near her head.

Suddenly, she heard an agonized yell from her attacker and she halted, turning around. The District 7 girl was lying on the grass, a crimson hole in where her heart use to be, but the weapon was nowhere in sight. Rapunzel had a feeling she would rather not find it.

Swallowing her disgust, she glancing around, holding the frying pan up to keep her guard up. Over the battles happening all around her, her eyes eventually found the mysterious attacker. On hindsight, the method of attack she should have informed her well enough who it was.

Half-way across the field, the black-curled girl from District 1 had an array of daggers strapped to herself – retrieved from the Horn, the blonde suspected - but she didn't throw any of them at Rapunzel. Instead, Gothel beckoned the girl over, with what seemed to a kindly smile. She also yelled something, but with the racket the blonde couldn't hear a single word.

Rapunzel hesitated. She had no doubt that running over to the arena near the summer quarter, where the Career was, would be safe; the older girl had proven her prowess with knives, and would certainly cover her back. However, she remembered too well what happened in Eugene's Games. There were some mistakes not worth repeating.

But turning down a Career, especially one who with that good an arm? That would be a mistake too. The second she turned her back on Gothel, Rapunzel was certain she would find a dagger through her chest – correction, _just a hole_ in her chest.

She was rooted to the ground, unsure on what to do. Gothel seemed to get frustrated by her indecision, because her shouts had become more frequent and more furious. Eventually, it seemed that black-haired girl would run towards herself, but then a huge white wall suddenly rose from the ground between them, flinging Rapunzel back.

"Rapunzel!" She heard a muffled cry from Gothel, but it seemed so far away.

Much nearer by, she heard another voice behind the ice, frightened yet harsh, "Stay back! All of you!"

Cries of astonishment and outrage came soon after that, but the ice was opaque and Rapunzel couldn't see what caused it.

Spikes began forming on the ice wall, so Rapunzel picked herself up, gathering her hair and her frying pan before racing away from it, praying that no one would stop her this time.

Her prayers went unanswered. From her side, a sword hilt came crashing down on her brow, knocking her off her feet once more. Raising her arm, she swung the frying pan wildly, but the attacker was preparing, twisting the pan out of her hands within a second. Disarmed, she tried to run, but the boy had simply stepped on to her plait, tugging her to an abrupt stop.

"_Ah-ah-ah_," he said, wagging his finger at her face, resting his cool blade against her neck. "Struggling is pointless."

She was sweating profusely, her breath quickening. Was it just a under a week ago when she had said those words? She was pretty sure she could never say it so menacingly though.

As terrified as she was, she couldn't help but be fascinated by the appearance of the District 4 boy. He was not much taller than herself, but was obviously much stronger and muscular – not surprising, since he was a Career. Three long scars decorated his left eye. She could only wonder who did it to him, and she shuddered to imagine what he did to that person.

"I could kill you with this sword," he was saying in a rather conversational tone. "Just so you know I'm not inept, or anything." She tried edging away, but he was just pressed it closer to her throat as a warning, and she stopped. "But that's just really boring and conventional. I like efficiency – I really do, but I also like fun. Hey, won't you look at those?"

His face lit up as he turned to the giant ice wall, lined with uneven but sharp icicles. Rapunzel attempted to escape again, but he simply dropped the sword and raised her on chokehold, cackling incessantly. His grip was incredibly strong and even if she didn't want to, she struggled. Black spots started clouding her vision as she fought to breath in his tight hands.

"Oh, I've got a brilliant idea!" He exclaimed, a wicked glint appearing in his eye, as he gazed at the wriggling blonde with mad excitement. "How about I put you up there? Well, a more accurate phrasing would be 'toss' or 'fling' or 'ram-against-it-till-you're-a-nothing-but-a-bloody carcass', but yeah, you get the gist."

"N..no…" Rapunzel croaked. She swore herself that she wouldn't going to plead for mercy, but the shining sharp ice spikes set her heart thumping against her ribcage.

He paused, deadpanning at her. "Um, you knew it was a rhetorical question right?"

Abruptly, he broke into a demonic laugh, a deranged expression further marring his face as he strutted to the wall, still swinging the girl around like she was nothing but a crumpled flower.

"Hope you're not afraid of heights," he called through a sadistic grin, as he lifted her towards the icicles. He drew his arm back to toss her, chortling insanely as he did. Rapunzel simply held her breath as she prepared herself for the plunge of agony in her back.

Then, with a cry, he let her go, but besides a little cut, she felt nothing.

Bewildered, she found that she was sitting just an inch away from the icicles, a little tear on her back from scraping against one of the points.

A shout caused her to raise her head. Before her stood her captor, was cursing colorfully as he fought off her rescuer - a petite-size girl who surprising strong for her size. The girl – from District 10, her coat revealed - had nothing but her bare hands, but she still wrestled with the boy. She used one palm to push back his blade, and the other to push on his hilt. Her left hand was bleeding badly, but she didn't stop. Driving back the boy one step at a time, she shoved him nearer and nearer the spike-covered wall.

The boy became aware of her intention, so he drew himself back for a moment before launching his weight against the girl, causing her to stumble back. As he lifted the blade to smite the smaller tribute, Rapunzel returned to her senses. Picking broken icicle on the ground nearby, she brought down heavily on the boy's head. The boy's eyes glazed over, before he slumped on to the grass.

Rapunzel gasped, dropping the icicle as she did. Her eyes searched for any signs of life in the boy, but she couldn't find any. A wave of nausea swept over her as her hand subconsciously covered her trembling lip.

"C'mon." The District 10 girl said to her, hardly giving the boy a glance. She removed the sword from his hand, strapping it to her waist. Her bleeding hand see gave a disapproving glance, before she went over to retrieve Rapunzel's pan.

Handing the metal object to the blonde, the District 10 girl said, almost cheerily, "So, I saved your butt, you saved mine. Allies?"

She could almost hear Flynn shouting in her ear, _'Yes! Yes!'_ Slowly, Rapunzel took the pan, gladly curling her fingers around the handle.

"Okay," she answered as casually as she could, but her voice was shaking so much she was surprised she was coherent at all.

"Let's go then," the girl told her. Rapunzel nodded, and both of them sprinted together in the spring quarter. There was no one else in sight, but they still checked their surroundings often, just in case.

On their way out, the District 10 girl picked up some materials, so Rapunzel did the same. She noticed that the smaller girl had a tendency to look across the field, as if trying to find someone, but the walls of ice pretty much blocked their view of the rest of the arena centre except for the Cornucopia itself.

When they ran past the large stones, and their boots hit the softer grass of the spring quarter, the District 10 girl stopped for a moment, searching around them. Finally, she sighed, saying in a small voice, "I think he's not coming."

Rapunzel wondered who could she be talking about, then it struck her that she meant the girl was talking about another ally. She guessed that it was probably that boy from her District – both of them had hung out a lot during Training Sessions. She made a small cry when she finally realized what the girl had meant.

"Let's go," the girl told her sadly.

Both of them sprinted through the forest, and didn't stop for hours, though they were exhausted from fear and sorrow.

* * *

><p><strong>SN: **

**Yep, Big Hero 6 fans are gonna kill me. Yep. And...maybe I deserve it. But will any weep of W. Dingwall? Hmmph.**

**Time for some Bios of lesser-known characters that will have recurring appearance:**

**District 4 tributes:**

**Male: Dagur the Deranged – First appearance in **_**Riders of Berk**_** episode 'Twinsanity' – The mad teenage chief of the Berserker tribe (Enemies of Berk, basically), he killed (or it is implied in the story) his own father to take over. Has a personal vendetta against Hiccup, though he once considered him 'a brother', since they were both sons of chiefs. Deranged plans include conquering Berk and killing Toothless while Hiccup watches. While crazy, he is very strong, extremely talented in most weaponry and quite cunning in battle. His most dangerous weapon – and his greatest weakness – is his madness.**

**Female: Heather – First appearance in **_**Riders of Berk**_** episode 'Heather Report' – Starting out as a spy placed amongst the Dragon riders to steal the Book of Dragons, she eventually shifts to good after the Dragon riders help rescue her parents from the Outcasts (Another antagonistic tribe in the series, FYI). In (too) many Httyd fanfictions, she usually plays an antagonistic role against Astrid, because in said episode, Astrid gets jealous of excessive trust that Hiccup put in said, but the girls end up buddy-ish by the end of the episode. Is pretty (enough to compete with Astrid), crafty, intelligent, and a pretty good actress. ****Even if she doesn't use weapons in the show, I'm just pretending she can here - because!**

**The official death list of tributes for Bloodbath would be out in Chapter 16, and I'll be putting survivors lists every now and then for you guys to keep track easier. If I remember.**

**I hope the POVs here weren't too confusing? This is the first time since Chapter 1 that I've done a semi-concurrent POV, so if you find issues with this, I would appreciate the feedback. **

**Up Next: What happened to Jack and Elsa? Bloodbath Part 2.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Hello everyone. Was-sup? **

**I'm refusing to watch Mockingjay Part 1 (I hate unfinished films. Waiting till Part 2 comes out, and on dvd), but I'm addicted to the score. Listening to James Newton Howard helps in writing process.**

**Okay, I'll get to it.**

**Mailbox: **

**A way to uncreative girl: Great, we agree! The seasons aren't just seasons though – they all come with strings. Hope you'd be able to recognize the stuff I throw into each season. If not… I just suck.**

**SmilingStarcat: I think Snow Arena would Elsa way too much advantage. Or at least, everyone else who would die of freezing except her, and it'd be a very short and boring game. Hope you liked this chapter, though you may find it upsetting. **

**Awsomaniatica: Hah, the end was supposed to a little funny, compared to how depressing this chapter is/could be. And this isn't the worst, obviously. Glad you like the layout. I may be in over my head over this though. **

**Elvis Rules41: I concur on that! That's what Fixer-Upper's about! At least half of it…sorta. Hiccup's image is, like, completely smattered if you ask me. Whoever sponsors the funny guy? I mean, c'mon... More Freaked out Elsa in next chapter, but hey, her ice plays an important role here. **

**Mariemarc44: Yay! Emma's part is actually one that's kinda irrelevant (compared to the others which are linked to the story) but I really liked going into her head and writing like a little girl. I guess with the death of a certain someone, you can recount the folks on your list again. I can't tell you anything yet, but I enjoy reading your guesses. I love Hiccup and Astrid too - I have a thing for 'nerdy-guy and strong-girl' tropes. Hope you liked this chapter.**

**Review! Ask Questions! Critique! **


	16. Chapter 15: Bloodbath Part 2

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 15: Bloodbath Part 2

* * *

><p>Blood, blood, everywhere. It sickened him to the core.<p>

Some logical, rational part of himself told him to move his feet, but he couldn't. He stood transfixed at the scene before, his face scrunched up in horror and disgust - but mostly horror.

Scarcely twenty feet from him plate, he observed as the scarred District 4 boy slashed a long sword at a small, black-haired boy running before him. The other boy's nimbleness was the only thing that saved him so far, but then District 4 boy produced a small dart and flung it at the black-haired boy. The dart cut the boy's leg and he stumbled, falling on his face. The District 4 boy raised his blade, ready to plunge it into his victim's back. However, the monstrous sized District 11 boy came rumbling from the Horn, roughly shoving the District 4 boy to his aside. The District 4 gave an infuriated growl, before giving chase to the offending bigger tribute and forgetting the smaller prey. The boy was lying horribly still though, and Jack wondered if he was already dead from some wound he hadn't seen earlier.

To his left, near the autumn quarter, he queasily watched that the District 8 boy pursued a small girl with a black ponytail, a cleaver in hand. But fortunately this girl was sneaky and quick, throwing a canteen set picked from the ground the larger boy, distracting him as she made her getaway behind the red and yellow maples of the Autumn Quarter.

Then a spear sprouted between the District 8 boy's shoulder blades, causing him to collapse to the ground. The thrower of the weapon – the District 4 girl - came dashing to the boy's body. Her hands became stained red when she yanked on the handle, before brushing her black bangs back casually, as if this was nothing more than a morning walk to her. That was when she caught him staring.

At that moment, Jack suddenly realized he had been standing still on his plate all this while.

Jumping off his plate, he swung back, behind the stones, in front of the winter quarter, running like the wind. He cursed at himself. What is Tooth had already thought him dead and left? Or worse, she waited, and got attacked? He reassured herself that if the latter occurred, Tooth would be fine. She must have earned the score of nine for a reason.

Just as he almost reached the last stone that marked the winter quarter, loud cracking sounds around the Horn caught his attention. Unwittingly, he halted at his steps.

There she was; the angel, albeit, a very _scared_ angel.

She dashed past the mouth of the Horn, a Career hot on her heels, her hands clinging to her elbows, and snow trailing her feet.

Wait, _snow_?

"Stay back!" The District 12 girl yelled, but the Career obviously ignored her, instead calling for her fellow Pack mates to hunt the District 12 girl.

Involuntarily, the District 12 girl raised a hand out, as if to push the chasing girl away, but instead, a blue light shot out, onto the ground, before a barricade of glistening icicles rose up around her.

One of the Careers - the girl from District 4 carrying the spear - was running forth when she was struck by the spikes. She fell back, clutching her shoulder. The District 1 girl barely rolled out of the way in time, panting heavily as she did.

"Shen!" She shouted behind her, while drawing a knife from her belt. "Get your cocky butt here, or so help me!"

With that said, she flung the blade at the blonde girl, who veered away in time. In fearful retaliation, she halted for a moment, taking a single step at towards the Career, forming a stream of ice in that direction, causing the black-haired girl to slip painfully, before encasing her torso with tentacles of crystal.

"Shen!" The girl screamed again, wriggling furiously in her trap.

Then, a new voice came from the Autumn Quarter. "Hey, _Ice Freak_!"

A blur zapped past the District 12's girl, scraping hard against her skull. The platinum-blonde girl stumbled back, though still on her feet, holding her hand against her bleeding head as she sought her assailant.

Jack wasn't that surprised that it was District 2 girl who threw the hatchet – he had seen how she handled those in training after all. She had picked up another two from the ground and flung them expertly. The District 12 girl managed to avoid one, but the other struck her shoulder. She cried out, clenching her teeth, pressing onto the wound. For someone so powerful, she seemed remarkably..._afraid_.

Something in him snapped. Before he knew, Jack was moving across the field before he knew it. The District 2 girl whipped the axe off her back and charged. The District 12 girl was more prepared this time, drawing up a boulder of ice to push back the District 2 girl. The shorter girl however was far too agile, and she skipped around the boulder, swinging her axe back as she dash forward.

Another Career - the boy from District 1- had already arrived, and was shooting an array of darts from her back. The District 12 girl had constructed a shield ice to protect herself, but just barely. She took the shield and threw it at the District 2, crashing her back. The District 1 boy then drew out a long sword from his back and lunged at her. The girl raised her arms, forming a new curved ice boulder to protect herself, but the boy methodically slammed into it, cracking it. A frenzied expression was on his face, as he danced around the ice, whipping his blade like a ribbon.

Jack began running faster at that point. As he swept past the other fighting tributes, he picked up a rapier he found on stuck in the grass, charging forward. At the back of his head, he knew he was being foolhardy, but he supposed he was never really the logical type. He could imagine Emma watching him, ranting at the screen, demanding why he was doing something as stupid as this. Bunnymund was probably cussing at the screen too.

Honestly, he didn't know the reasons himself.

The District 12 girl then struck an icy blast at the boy, sending him flying back. In a wave of panic, the she raised both arms and screamed, more as a warning than a threat, "Get back!"

The Careers paid no heed of course. The wounded District 4 girl had already picked herself up and headed for ice-powered girl. The District 2 tribute did likewise, charging and screaming once more. Jack, however, knew from the platinum-blonde's terrified expression that this was no bluff. So he flung himself behind the nearest object he could find - a large wooden shield – and sat tight, holding his rapier at safe distance.

The explosion of ice and wind was so strong and powerful he was carried from the centre of the field back to his starting point. He would have found that amusing, if he wasn't bruised from head to toe after colliding into one of the stone monoliths.

The whirlwind died after a freezing five seconds, but that's all it took for the sweat on his face to freeze. Brushing the snow off his face, coughing, he blinked, tried to work out what happened. Blinking away the whiteness, he forced himself to sit up, even though his aching back advised against it. When he peered over a glassy boulder, his eyes widened in astonishment.

As far as he could tell, the half of the Cornucopia that faced the winter and autumn quarters were frozen, and the ice was still spreading rest of the field, like a white wave washing over the green.

As useless as the wooden shield had been, it did guard his head against millions of icicle formations that sprouted in the field. Scanning around him, as far as he could see, most tributes were still out cold from the impromptu blizzard, some even trapped in the crystalline structures. A magnificent wall of ice blocked the entire view of the spring and summer quarters. He wondered if Tooth was still there.

Spinning around, he spotted a reddish-brown trail, leading to a distant figure. She was racing deeper and deeper in the winter quarter as fast as she could, anxiously glancing back every now and then.

Groaning a little, he got to his feet, picking the rapier that could have killed him in the storm, but didn't. He noted carefully the direction she was going to. At corner of his eye, he noted that several of the remaining tributes in the frozen field – largely Careers – were coming to. They would take some time to get the ice off and tend their wounds, but when they were ready, there was already a trail leading them to vengeance.

He heard a faint moan nearby, and he looked in that direction.

His surprised eyes met the disorientated ones of a much younger boy. It was the boy who was attacked by the District 4 tribute at the start of the Games. The boy – District 3, his coat revealed - brushed back the snow off his black hair, as he pushed himself of the cold ground. Then the boy blinked, and scurried back, letting out a gasp of pain as he did. Under closer scrutiny, Jack realized that his right leg was injured – a deep laceration in the calf.

The boy stared at his own wound, then back at him, then at the rapier. The boy's breaths quickened when he started to comprehend his precarious situation. He glanced around him for anything as a weapon, but ice was futile against steel.

Clutching to the armband that he wore around his wrist, the boy inhaled deeply. With a resigned air, he whispered to the standing boy, "Make this quick."

With that said, he squeezed shut his eyes, turning away.

When the fullness of the boy's abject surrender crashed on him, Jack found his own heart racing. He knew that this was expected of him; this was death match, for crying out loud. He could almost hear the voices of the Capitol roaring for him to slay this boy, who almost half his height and injured, in cold blood. The rapier was sharp and smooth; a quick lunge, and the boy would barely feel anything. But the minute he felt the sword trembling in his grasp, Jack knew that he didn't believe a smidgen of what he was telling himself.

"_You're a guardian, Jack. You thrive on protective instinct."_

Bunnymund was probably going to kill him, if the game didn't first. But there was no way he was killing this boy. Not this way.

When he dropped the rapier, the metal clattering on ice caused the boy's eyes to shoot open. The boy gazed up at him in disbelief; his eyes are round as dinner plates.

"C'mon, kid," Jack said, bending down and putting one arm under the boy's. The boy still stared at him, reluctant and unconvinced.

"If we don't move now, the Careers will pick you off when they find you," the elder boy told him, "and they carry scarier weapons than me."

The boy watched at him for a long moment, then asked, "Why?"

Jack rolled his eyes in frustration. He couldn't explain this in front of all the cameras. If his sponsors, as crazy as they were about his looks, might be less willing to support a tribute who decided not to kill for altruistic reasons. He was still counting on them to think that this was some hare-brained strategy that he had.

Then he realized that he just gave himself the answer. "You're small game, and I'm buying favors. I do expect payback. Now, are you going to move?"

The boy raised an eyebrow, indicating that he was more skeptical towards the reply than the deed. But he said nothing of this. Instead, he removed the metal band around his wrist. Twisting it slightly, the part of the band fell off, forming two new wrist bands. The thinner of the two he handed to Jack. "Here. Your 'payment'."

It was Jack's turn to raise his brow.

"I have allies in the game," the dark-haired boy explained, as he slipped his arm band back on. "They have similar bands. You wear this, you get their help. Well, you have to help them back sometime too."

"Fair enough," Jack answered, sliding the band up his arm. Then he held a hand out to the boy. "So, are you getting up?"

The boy paused, then shook his head. "There's something I need to check first. Just leave me here."

Jack was deeply puzzled about what could possible drive the boy to stay in the danger zone, but part of him felt relieved that he could keep some distance from his 'almost-victim'. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," the District 3 boy confirmed, leaning his back against the ice, then checking on his wound. "Don't worry about me."

Jack contemplated this a moment, then shrugged. "Your choice."

Rising his feet, Jack nodded curtly to the boy, before heading back out, passing the huge stones as he did. The rapier was still swerving around on the ice, but Jack didn't pick it up. He wasn't a blade person.

"Hey, Ten."

He swung back to the boy, wondering what else there could be.

"Thanks for, you know, not killing me. _Yet_."

Jack could only grunt in response. A pleasant reply would come off as weird on screen. So he answered somewhat grouchily, "Name's Jack."

"Hiro."

Turning on his heel, Jack left the Cornucopia grounds, but before he did, he made one last check on the Careers. Most of them were already awake, hacking the ice off their limbs and bodies. He had best leave before they noticed his presence. Or the lack of.

He glanced first in the direction of the spring quarter, then back at the snow path that he was already stuck in.

He knew that if Tooth was alive, she would be long gone. She'd probably thought him dead. True, he could try to find her in the spring quarter, but the Arena was so vast, he might only find her when the survivor numbers dwindled to single digits. On the other hand, the stained snow of the winter quarter told him exactly where he needed to go.

He huffed a sigh. It would be folly to do the latter, of course. Tooth had agreement with him, and she'd be more than willing to fulfill her end. She was from his District - if there was anyone who he should help here, it should be her. But he couldn't forget the terrified expression of the blonde girl as she fled from the Careers. And with such blatant trail leading them to where she was, it couldn't be right to leave her alone.

He hoped that Tooth would understand, as he picked up his feet and continued moving through the snow.

* * *

><p>Hovercrafts flew over the Cornucopia, trying to pry the dead bodies from the ice. A hot breeze blew in from the summer quarter, feeling like a dry but welcome smack of warmth in the freezing metal Horn.<p>

When all but the Careers were left at the Horn, only five cannon shots rang out in the air. Only five. That was had to be the smallest death count for a bloodbath ever. They could blame the ice, or – though not so preferable – their own incompetence.

"Well?" The scarred boy from District 4 turned to his companions, toying with his large sword. The redhead pressed on the ground wriggled about in defiance, only stopping when the District 4 boy stomped harder onto his back. There was a crack sound –bones, it was likely, - and the redheaded boy grunted in muffled agony.

"Stop squirming. I _hate_ squirming!" The Career snarled at their prisoner, swing his blade about threatening. Returning his gaze to his fellow Careers, the scarred boy repeated, "Well?"

The three other heads turned to the white haired boy in the group. He narrowed his brows at the redhead sprawled on the snow, before declaring flatly, "Kill him."

The District 4 boy's eyes lit up in diabolical glee as he heaved the sword, ready to plunge it into his victim's back, when an articulate voice rang out, "_Or_...we could use some common sense for once, and ignore Shen."

There were collective groans as the District 1 boy glared daggers at his district mate. The scarred boy made an infuriated growl as he plunked the blade aside, flailing his hands in frustration. "Make up your mind, you morons! Do I get to maim the pretty boy or not?"

"He has a point," the redhead mumbled dryly in the snow, trying to pick himself up.

The sole blonde career gave him a kick in the stomach, causing him to grimace sharply, clutching his ribs as he curled back on the ground.

"That's for talking without permission," she informed him harshly. She jerked her head to the two tributes of the luxury district. "Well?"

"There're already too many people in the Arena," Shen pointed out. "We should take out whoever we can."

"Well, precisely because there're so many more we must hunt that all the more we need hands," Gothel argued in returned as she slipped gloves over her slender fingers. Cocking her head to the redhead boy squirming on the ground, "I've seen him with a sword. He's quite dandy with it. Besides," a sly grin crept on her face, "he's cute."

The boy on the ground looked considerably disturbed at her statement. The blonde girl just rolled her eyes.

"And he did fight off the other sideburns – the District 7 boy - who was way bigger than him," the District 4 girl, Heather, added in, slipping her coat over her bandaged shoulder – a new woolen one from Cornucopia. There were enough of warm clothes to clothes to go around in the Horn, but they had to divide it up fairly to prevent conflict. For now.

Their 'discussion' was interrupted by a famous voice booming down from the sky.

"_Attention, attention all tributes."_ It was Sully the presenter who spoke. Silence immediately fell amongst the teenagers, even the one sprawled on the ground. _"There has been a rule change."_

Everyone perked their ears; some with interest and others with suspicion. Besides not stepping off your plates early, and not eating each other, there were no rules as far as the Hunger Games were concerned.

"_Pertaining to tributes with mutant abilities, the use of powers to strike the killing blow is forbidden,"_ Sully announced. _"I repeat, pertaining to tributes with mutant abilities, the use of powers to strike the killing blow is forbidden. That is all."_

With that, the announcement was over, and the babble swept over them.

"Remarkable. Our lives just got harder."

"We hunt the Ice Witch. _Now_."

"Half of us are still sore from injuries," Heather protested. "If they only forbidden her to use it for the killing blow, she _can and will_ take us down to easily. We need time to recover, and we need time to plan."

"That sounds wise, and we can't leave the supplies around here," mused Gothel, twirling her black curls around her fingers as she thought. Eyeing the falling flakes, she continued, "Cornucopia is obviously no longer ideal camping ground. We need a camping site that's warmer, and suited protecting the goods." It was a sound point. Being brought up in richer districts, the Careers were used to richer foods - a disadvantage a game that where hunger was too easily a killer. Food stuffs at the Horn was what kept them from starving, thus protecting the supplies was absolutely essential.

"Now who's isn't thinking this through?" The District 1 boy was snapped at the the black-haired girl, earning a frown from her. "The more time we give her, the more time she has to prepare. We go _now_."

"We're wounded, but so is she. The best time is strike now," supplemented Astrid, as she struck the whetstone across her axe. It was back to its gleaming silvery self, now that she had cleaned the dried blood off with the snow.

"Can we stop wasting time and just chase down to stupid girl?" bellowed Dagur, who was very close to carving the captured boy's head off just for entertainment.

The District 2 girl however noticed to this. Dragging him off their prisoner, she grabbed the redheaded boy by the coat and yanked him to his feet. The boy's hand immediately went to his broken ribs, but Astrid didn't give him time for that.

"Listen clear, Twelve," she hissed at him, grabbing his collar. She was much shorter than him, but it was obvious which of the two would win in close combat. "You co-operate, do your part, we'll let you live – for a while. But you even think of running, or backstabbing," she menacingly jabbing the tip her axe at his chest, "I'll let Dagur here carve out your heart. And _that's_ only if I don't do it myself."

The boy paled at her statement and nodded. Letting him go, she turned to the rest of the Careers, all of whom gave her skeptical looks.

Undaunted, she instructed, "We'll break into teams. Three of us would hunt the ice witch into the winter quarter. If nothing else, find out where she is now. Two would scout for a camping site. As far as I can tell, the spring quarter's terrain seems the most suitable. One of us stays to guard the supplies. Other tributes may sneak back, no doubt."

The District 4 boy sneered. "Who died and put you in charge?"

The girl simply returned him a glare that shut him up.

"The Ice Witch is powerful, but she's not that fast," Shen considered, pressing his fingers against each other as he thought out loud. "I believe my speed would be needed."

Gothel immediately interjected with sarcasm, "Wonderful, _darling_! I'm sure you're tiny little darts will make _all_ the difference." Shifting towards the others, she said, "Weapons of both force and range are needed to smash her ice. I believe I can contribute to that." One hand dropped her on her belt, glistening with the sharp, long daggers she carried. Shen was practically seething, as he eyed the smaller-sized collection that lined his torso.

"I'm in too," the District 4 volunteered, picking a fresh double-ended spear of the rack.

An axe was heavy-weight enough to break ice formations, so all waited for Astrid to throw in her own name. However, she simply retrieved a crossbow and a set of bolts from a shelf.

Heading to the redheaded boy, she asked, still reeking hostility, "Do you know how to use this?"

Slowly, the boy nodded. "I've tried in the Training Session."

"Good." She threw it all into his arms, and he stumbled back at the weight. "Try anything funny, and you'll regret it."

To last two boys, she said, "You'll scout for the camping site."

"Wow, that's really boring," Dagur deadpanned. For a minute, he actually looked sane.

Astrid simply narrowed her brows at him. "You wanna keep watch?"

There no arguments after that. Each one of them grabbed the gear that they needed. The redhead boy was allowed bandages for his ribs. Just as they began streaming out of the Cornucopia, Astrid pulled the District 4 girl aside.

"Watch Twelve carefully," she told the other girl in a low voice, see eyeing the redhead with sideburns suspiciously. "I don't know how much of the 'lover boy' is true, but if it is, he may try something."

Realization struck the dark-haired girl, as a smirk appeared on her face. "That's why you spared him, didn't you? To act as a bait? That's actually pretty clever – for a District 2-er."

"I'm strong too," Astrid replied impassively, but there was thinly veiled warning behind it.

Exchanging cold nods, the girls parted.

Astrid watched as the trio disappeared down into the winter quarter, while the pair headed into the temperate, sunny spring quarter.

She sat herself right at the mouth of the Horn, where she had the clearest view of anyone coming into the field. Setting herself against the metal box that held a month's worth supply of canned food, she continued to sharpen her axe as snow pelted down from the mysteriously clear blue sky.

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter <strong>

"_What are you?"_

That had been the first thing the District 1 girl had demanded of her when she had built the magnificent ice barrier between the spring and summer quarters. It hadn't been her fault – she had been provoked. The District 4 boy, who had been lost his previous prey, had decided to attack her while she had been running towards the Horn. In a moment of panic, she had done the only thing she knew how to do – freeze up. Literally.

Those tributes that had seen the massive wall of ice suddenly rise from the ground been stunned, and for five seconds the entire Arena had been almost still. Even Hans, who had been locked in battle with a District 7 tribute, had stopped to stare. His gaze had been the most uncomfortable she had felt before; confusion, disbelief – then _fear_.

Eventually the staring had stopped, certainly. The first to move had come from the black-haired District 1 tribute – which had been the toss of a dagger - and everything from that on had been a white blur.

But then there had been the question; why had she abandoned Pabbie's first rule and gone running in the Cornocopia? Not that she had been the only disobedient one, since Hans ran in too.

On hindsight, she realized that the Gamemakers who had done it– no, just the Head Gamemaker. She remembered how he had stared intently back at her during the judging session, watching her wring her gloved fingers together. He must have understood what the gloves meant then, because he had decided to place a pair right at the mouth of the Horn, at an angle that he had known that she would see. He had known how to lure her out, and she had fallen for it. And a single slip up had shown the world the truth about the mysterious Snow Queen.

When the announcement came, it had been a huge relief. She had honestly expected greater repercussions for her 'abilities', but the simple vagueness of rule surprised her. The Capitol hated anything that they didn't expect in the Games, especially when it came from the tributes themselves. As of now, they were probably trying to convince the public that they had known about her powers all along – _'Why, didn't you see the parade with all that ice? Don't you think we would know too well if 'the Snow Queen' could actually use snow?'_

To her credit, there were almost no rules in the Hunger Games, and technically, her cryokinetic powers could be considered just as her own abilities, so she wasn't really cheating. She supposed to the rule was just to prevent her from freezing everyone to death. That would be far too boring a show, after all.

She placed a hand over her bleeding shoulder, allowing the ice to coat it with a layer of snow, before she tried shifting her arm again. It still hurt to move it, but snow did stop plug the wound, and the coating was surprisingly light and flexible enough for her to swing her arm in circle. Not that she wanted to do that now.

The next part she tended to was her head. Brushing the abrasion lightly, she flinched when she felt the acute sting. Clenching her teeth as she lay afinger there again, a thin frost formed over the broken red skin, and the blood trickling down the side of her head stopped. Sighing in relief, she dropped back her head, allow herself to breathe slowly as she relaxed against the pine's trunk.

She stared down at her blood-stained coat and pants. By right, she should be freezing out here, due to her blood loss and the already icy weather. But instead, plunging temperatures were actually a comfort to her exhausted self.

The stained clothes still disturbed her of course. Placing a tentative hand on her ragged attire, she pushed a doubtful thought through her mind. Swirls of white appeared around her, weaving through the cloth. With a second, the blood against the black was gone, replaced with a clean set of uniform, only this was completely white – better for camouflage, she thought. She then gazed down at her hands, staring at the blue bareness, wondering if she should, well, make a pair of–

No, Olaf had said those were for hiding. Hiding only mattered to her when she didn't want them to know.

"But now they know," she told herself, a little surprised at her own epiphany. The time for hiding was long over, and if they called her monster, then let them. She couldn't care what they were going to say; not the tributes certainly, nor the Capitol.

Her fingers found the pin on collar. Unlatching it, she took a close look at it now. The black token stained her fingers slightly black – soot, she realized. A piece of home, literally.

Gazing intently at the crocus engraving, a single thought sent a frost coasting over and into the fragile air piece, ribbing into and on it, until the entire token had into a crystalline little pin.

She smiled a little as she reattached the gleaming ice pin to her shirt. If Kristoff was watching right now, he would probably be sulking. He had always been struggling with his ice carvings all the time, and considering she could form them so easily, he was probably envious. As for Anna, she would probably be a bit shocked, but excited, and she would admire how the flakes that she had created in her hands. She could imagine her strawberry blonde sister, jumping around in excitement and admiration, only to turn to Elsa, and the excitement would melt away, and then her elder sister, why she couldn't just tell her about this? And maybe she'll get mad and -

And maybe she shouldn't think about Anna right now.

Picking herself up, she decided to move on before she ran into another tribute. Not that she had doubts she could take anyone now.

As she trudged the snowy-white mountain, she breathed in each gust of icy wind. Her spirit was strangely soaring, though her body was battered.

Let the storm rage on. The cold never bothered her anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**That's the end of the Bloodbath. Sorry to those expecting an active Elsa POV, because I did try writing it once, and it was so disappointing I couldn't sleep after I wrote it, so everything that happened is largely seen through Jack's eyes. **

**Yes, Elsa changed her uniform. No, it's not her ice dress. It's just a white version of the uniform. **

**I'll be dropping Career POVs now and then, because it'll help in understanding what's happening in the Arena. So I hope you guys like them, or at least… not hate them. **

**Yep, Elsa's ice is the reason that I'm using to justify the small death count. If really there was someone making ice in a death-defining situation, you'd be distracted, even if only a sec. Full death recap next chapter.**

**Up Next: **

_**-And because that idiot was going to die-**_

"_**-**__**Flower, gleam and show- no, glow-"**_

_**-**__**raising three fingers to her lips, then holding it out towards -**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Hello, people. Hope you've been enjoying the story.**

**I'm pretty excited. The number of followers is nearing 50! Who-hoo! And the reviews are going to hit in 100 soon! Yeah! (Or maybe I'm just disillusioned) I've been thinking that of giving the 100th reviewer a prize (besides digital cookies), like a one-shot request based on this AU. Still thinking about it. If I pull through, I'll write the details next chapter.**

**Christmas is coming! Huzzah/Hurrah/Hurray! Maybe I can try to weave a Christmas theme into the next chapter! No, I'm kidding.**

**Mailbox:**

**A way to uncreative: I hope this chapter covers enough about the events at the Horn, at least the necessary bit. Of course, Elsa's ice is still going to play a role in the next events of the games. Hope you enjoy this!**

**ElvisRules41: Not weird at all. Elsa's best moments happen to those she goes a bit nuts… Sorry that there wasn't much of that here, though I think the others tributes are suitable wary of her. Not all popular people are athletes in my school I think. Oh wait…I think you're right…huh. Obviously, I don't fall in that category. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Awsomaniatica: Yep! Totally filled with random ice. And well, Jack saw pretty much most of Elsa's accidental and not-so-accidental actions. The question is; What does he do from here?**

**Riverfall: For this story, Jack doesn't have powers. He's very much mortal. Thank you for grieving for Wee Dingwall – his death is going to play a small, but vital role in Merida's future actions. Tooth and Rapunzel strike me as the type that would catch on immediately. They're such girls at times – correction, most of the time. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Anonymouslee: Thanks for following the story so faithfully (and finally reviewing. Seriously, reviews do wonders to one's mood. It's pretty weird actually). I'm glad that the last chapter moved you. It was lots of fun writing it, so I'm glad you enjoyed it. There's more to come that I'm looking forward to writing, and I hope that'd you'd enjoy this (though you may cry a little. Nah.) Thanks!**

**Guest101 (on chap 12): Okay, I guess y'all only read this when you reach this chapter. I hate making it official, the romantic pairings are; Hiccstrid, Flynnunzel, likely (but not promised) Jelsa. This does not mean they get happily-ever-afters, or that they'll even kiss. Yeah.**  
><strong>For future minor characters relationships, just assume most stuff is canonical, because I like canonical.<strong>

**mariemarc44: I'm glad that you didn't see that coming – not that I'm glad to kill her (she's a sweet person) or anything, but it had to happen. Hiro killing Hiccup – hey, that's a great idea! *Scribbles it somewhere, then pauses* oh, eh, hehe. Haha, your wishlist – cute idea. No love for Merida, eh? Your writing's really good. Chill, gal! I'm not really into Jelsa because I'm usually strictly canonical. Also, because I actually think Elsa's too mature for Jack, and that with both their heightened insecurities (though they overcome it at the end of their movies, but really? Insecurities never really leave), they might actually hurt each other a lot. However, I can imagine them as very close friends. Anyhow, in this story, don't worry, I think there's enough here to scream Jelsa (but still, no promises).**

**Thanks for the Reviews, guys!**

**See you in several days!**

**Review. Critque. Ask Questions.**


	17. Chapter 16: First Night

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 16: First Night

* * *

><p><strong>Autumn Quarter<strong>

Merida chewed the roasted rabbit meat absently. It had been her first kill in the Arena, and she had done it thanks with the help of the light bow that lay on her lap. She had been wise enough to cook only when the sun was up. Come evening, she had put out the fire and covered ashes. She had climbed up a strong maple and sat high on its branch, before she had allowed herself to indulge in her meal. The black pouch she had found at the Horn fortunately contained a little water bottle, half-filled, and she sipped a little cautiously. Tomorrow she would look for a new water source, but till then she would drink no more. Using the strap from the black pouch, she tied one leg securely to the branch she sat on, so she couldn't fall off when she slept.

The forest was cold, so she zipped her coat up, snuggly setting her back against the tree trunk as she swallowed the last of the meat. The night was already as black as coal, with nary a star, but the clear white moon did filter through the red leaves. She leaned back, and waited.

Sometime later, a small screen lit up the sky, projecting the Panem crest while the anthem roared victoriously in the background. The image disappeared to beginning the roll call of the dead.

The first face to appear was that of the bespectacled blonde girl from District 3. Next was a boy with a shock of yellow hair, and a blank expression.

Merida held back her tears. She had wept most of the afternoon already, and anymore crying was just going to make her more dehydrated than she already was.

The next few faces ran up: the girl from District 7 who honestly looked more like a boy, the muscular boy from District 8, the District 9 boy. Then the crest appeared once more, before the screen disappeared.

That meant only five were dead – exactly the number that died on in Bloodbath. That meant she still had eighteen competitors. Still, she was glad that the District 11 girl didn't appear. Sure, the lass was small, but she was definitely smart and probably sly. Much like herself.

She swung the quiver over a short branch above her, but her bow she hugged towards herself. Out of this entire game, it was the comfort she could have.

She had to win now, not that hadn't been her goal from the start, but now it was more crucial than ever. She promised herself that she would be a heroine; she would bring back honor to her district. This morning, she had made a slip-up. She had never meant for Wee Dingwall to pay for it, but he did. She owed it to his family; she owed it to her district. She didn't care how, but this time for sure, she knew that losing was not an option.

The last thing she remembered doing before dozing off was fiddling with the little pin that bore her family's emblem.

* * *

><p><strong>Cornucopia Grounds<strong>

She had slept for an hour or so after the announcement had played, but she quickly woke up when there was shuffling in the snow.

Taking up her axe, Astrid slowly rose to her feet, her eyes darting back and forth. The fire that she had built at the mouth of the Horn was still burning bright, casting shadows all over the metal walls inside. At first glance, all seemed as it was when she had left it, but in her gut, she knew that it wasn't. And her gut was very reliable.

Forcing herself to throw her shoulders back and give a yawn, she settled back on her comfortable spot near the fire, leaning back as she closed her eyes, resting the axe under her arm. And she listened.

As she had expected, there was a little rustling coming from her right, sounding just like someone who was searching through the heap of supplies behind. She allowed herself to take shallow breaths, and the thief became bolder; even allowing shifting around the metal weaponry - all the clanking and clinking, did the thief honestly think she'd sleep through that? Astrid truly pitied this idiot, because he or she was about as stealthy as a trumpeting elephant.

And because that idiot was going to die.

Without warning, she rolled over to her right, before leaping to her feet and tackling the thief. A twist of the arm, a kick and a rough shove later, the victim fell face first into the ground. She placed her foot firmly on the person's back, keeping him, or her, down. Her axe blade was raised high as she prepared to smite this pathetic little wimp of a thief.

Wait, _wimp_?

From the little light that reflected in the interior walls of the Horn, she could make out a scrawny, bony figure shaking in the shadows at the gleaming end of her weapon.

She almost fell back in surprise. "Hiccup?"

However, the voice that answered was unfamiliar. "Wha'?"

She supposed she could have brought down her blade there and then, but her curiosity got the better of her, so she lowered the blade and grabbed the thief by the back collar instead. With a single throw, she tossed him by the fireplace. He was about to scramble away, but she dropped her foot on his chest again, resting the tip of her blade at his chin. He squirmed, but didn't try to escape this time.

By the fire's glow, she could make his jet-black hair and large black eyes; the white around his corneas were strangled red. He was really scrawny, but somehow he lacked Hiccup's awkwardness in how he carried himself. Her eyes fell on the district number on his coat, before it shifted to his surprisingly well-bandaged leg. At least the explanation his clumsiness wasn't stupidity.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you, three," she hissed, pressing the cool steel against his jaw, causing him to jerk his head upwards in attempt to avoid it.

He just stuttered something incoherent for a moment or so. Astrid's forehead creased as she jabbed the point harder into him. She wondered why she couldn't just kill the miserable runt and get it over with. She did it easily enough this morning, but that was in the heat of battle. She liked the adrenaline; she like the rush that she got every time she flung herself into battle. But this? This was too easy, and this nerdy-looking boy was making her lose her temper.

Yanking his collar forward, she made a low growl as she lifted the axe, ready to smash it into his skull, when the boy yelled, "I can protect your supplies!"

She paused, narrowing her eyes at him, still holding up the axe. "You tried to _steal_ the supplies."

"And managed to get this far, which is precisely why you need to look after it better," he retorted with considerable snark, before flinching under her menacing glare. Gulping, he continued, "I can build you a fool-proof protection mechanism for supplies, so that no one can get to food stuffs. No one even needs to guard it."

"How?" She demanded, but she had to admit that this was intriguing. Guarding a pile of food was not productive use of manpower, and they needed as many people on the field to deal with the Ice Witch, and the Eleven-score girl.

Yes, she had that little confidence in her fellow careers.

"Mines." Seeing that she didn't understand, he added unhelpfully, "Mines underneath the tribute plates."

She raised her brow at him. "So?"

"They're deactivated now, but give me a minute with them, and I'll set up an impregnable defense system, completely automated." His eyes actually lit up when he spoke of it. It sounded like he really wanted to do this, even Astrid hadn't badgered – ahem, _threatened to cull_ him. "In a matter of fact, I can do it right now."

If it had been anyone else, Astrid would have whipped off the head immediately. But the boy had two things to his credit here: one, he was from the technological district of Panem, where everything from televisions to super-computers were built, so she had no doubts about his expertise in electronics; two, she had seen a similar expression on a brown-haired boy when he had tried to promote his '_baton cum taser cum tear gas grenade_' to a bunch of uninterested Peacekeeping officers.

The silence that followed did wonders to the boy's nerves, as he twitched uneasily under her cool gaze, his eyes flitting constantly to the weapon she rested so casually on her shoulder.

Finally, she lowered the axe, earning a relieved sigh from the boy. "The others are still searching a base, but I believe that we could use your …offer."

The boy snorted, but promptly shut up after she malignly raised her brows at him, her fingers still curled around the axe handle.

"Get up," she snapped at him, "and don't try running. Because you can't." She jerked her head his wound. She heard him muttering something under his breath. "What was that?"

"Nothing important," he replied pertly, limping slightly when he got to his feet. "Chill, lady."

"Shut up." She cuffed him roughly at the side of his head, and he yelped. "That's for sassing me." Dragging him by the collar, she shoved him down in the snow, outside the Horn. "You can start digging up the mines till the scouts come back."

"Now? In the dark? And the cold?" He actually managed to sound incredulous, in spite of his quaking voice.

"You offered to start right now," she threw his words back in his teeth. Picking up a small dagger from the rack, she tossed it to him. "Use that to dig."

She settled herself back in front of the fire, watching as he half-limped, half-trudged through the thick snow, groping in the dark.

"You should know I have perfect eyesight and aim, by the way," she called over the howling wind. When he turned back to glance at her, she patted the axe on her lap exaggeratedly.

Even in the black, she could see him roll his eyes before he shuffled along his way. She couldn't help but wonder why he dared to talk back to her even though he knew she was perfectly serious about killing him.

Or was she? There wasn't any reason why she wouldn't want to kill this boy, considering that they were complete strangers, yet she remembered how she deliberately held back the blade.

Doubts started creeping on the blonde girl, as she watched the blacked-haired boy, teething chattering, as he started groping into the snow.

* * *

><p><strong>Spring Quarter<strong>

"Looks like scar-faced didn't die after all," Tooth lamented wryly, before she blew a little on the red wood, then covering it the net of leaves they had made earlier. This was to prevent the ember's glow from attracting unwanted attention in the darkness, especially the Careers.

"Yes," her blonde ally replied, sounding rather relieved actually. That puzzled the District 10 girl, but she said nothing to that. "I guess your ally's alive too, huh? D-do you wan'na go find him?"

She noted that the girl's hesitation at the last line, and guessed that the she was afraid of being abandoned should they bump into her lanky, brown-haired district mate. So as an answer, she replied, "Nah. If he comes, he comes. Jack can look after himself_." 'As long as he has something to protect,'_ she added silently to herself. She prayed that he would find another ally along the way, preferably someone trustworthy, and perhaps weaker than him. That should do the trick.

A faint fog had descended on their quarter soon after the death recap end, which made it safe for them to make smoke their food as long as the flame stayed hidden. The blonde girl – Rapunzel, as she had introduced herself - had offered to do the cooking, using a stick to skewer the fresh chicken meat they had found amongst the supplies they picked from the Horn. Tooth had taken it on herself to stand guard. Occasionally, they would take sips from the frying pan, which they turned into a water carrier.

They had managed to gather quite a bit from Cornucopia grounds besides food stuff – a sling bag, blanket, a pair of gloves, a box of matches, even a pair of night-glasses. Tooth had recognized them immediately, since they had to wear in back home during nightshifts; they allowed the wearer to see completely in the dark. She wondered how many there were around the Horn.

If the Careers had any of such glasses, they could hunt at night without fire-light, and that meant that they could stalk their prey more stealthily. Her eyes rove over the serene-seeming trees before her, never letting down her guard. Rapunzel had insisted she take the gloves, so she used on now acted as a bandage to her injured left hand. Her right fingers were always twined around the handle of the blood-stained sword she had wrested from the Career that morning.

The blonde was saying, "So…"

"Uh-huh?" Tooth answered politely, her muscles still tensed.

"Are you called Tooth because you wear a tooth around your neck?" Rapunzel asked, then she flushed slightly, as if afraid she had offended her companion.

A smile tugged at corners of Tooth's lips as she gazed down at the tooth pendant around her neck – her token. "My full name's Toothiana, but this lateral incisor isn't not really related to my nickname. It's,"-she set herself down by the other girl, but kept the blade in her hand, - "it's a memory."

The green eyes of the other girl widened, while her hand unconsciously went to massaging the abrasion of her own forehead. "Oh? Is there a story?"

Tooth chuckled, "Yep. It's one of the first baby teeth I've ever lost. I was supposed to be cleaning up a chicken coop, but I ended up chasing the chickens around the field instead." She leaned back, fondly recalling that moment. "It was fun, though the poor chickens didn't agree with me." The blonde giggled at that. "Then, I ran smack into a poll and lost the tooth. My dad made me keep it as a reminder– to not play when I'm supposed to be doing work. But I've been wearing it so long, it's kinda like my memory box now." She glanced down at her token again. "I look at it, and I think of all the good times I've had while wearing it." She turned to her companion, eyeing the brooch the girl had pinned to her shirt sleeve. "What about you? What's the sun mean?"

"Oh, this?" The girl stuttered a while, fingering the crystal studded pin.

"It's really pretty," complimented Tooth, extending her hand forward. "Do you mind?"

Rapunzel removed the brooch and handed it to her. Tooth had to admire the exquisite design and the richness of its material. She knew she would never be able to afford to this, even she had managed to live her dream of being a dentist in the district.

"It's not mine – not really, anyway. My sponsors gave it to me."

"Oh." That made sense. Sort of. "I didn't think sponsors were the type who'd give gifts before the Games, though. Didn't your folks at home give you anything?" When Tooth turned the brooch over, she was surprised to find a little latch on its back. Intrigued, she fiddled with it, until it came loose.

"I-I," the other girl seemed ill at ease, even ashamed, "I don't have folks at home."

Tooth's head lifted in surprise.

The girl explained somewhat reluctantly, as she tugged on the long braid behind her, "I'm an orphan, so I don't have folks. As a matter of fact," she brushed a stray strand behind her ear, "I don't think I've _ever_ had folks."

Tooth was puzzled, even though she unconsciously fiddled with the brooch. "But that isn't possible. I mean, before you parents died-"

"I'm the only one with a blank record," the girl admitted, biting her lip before she continued. "_They-I-we-_I've no idea who I was, or who I am. They say I just appeared on the orphanage doorstep one day, but abandoning children's illegal." It was law in every district; mostly to prevent depressed mothers from dropping off unwanted children at already overrun homes. It had once been a common occurrence; especially amongst young women who couldn't bear the thought of knowing that the children they'd loved so may get ripped from them someday when they hit their teens.

As she listened, Tooth wondered if the Gamemakers had stopped airing their conversation. People all over Panem were watching after all, and they wouldn't people from different districts to accidentally know too much about life outside their own, or even about orphanage laws.

Apparently, the brooch was double-layered, and opening the latch allowed one to view the carved words inside. To get a better view of it, Tooth stood up, walking over to a spot where a little of the moon's light filtered through the trees.

"What about you? Don't you remember anything at all?" Tooth asked the girl, while she tried to catch some of the white light on the words. Eventually, she made out that there were two paragraphs, one on each panel. It seemed to be some children's poem, and it seemed vaguely familiar. Was it a nursery rhymes, or was it a song of sorts? She couldn't quite remember.

"Nothing, nothing at all." The District 8 girl sighed. Then she stiffened, sitting herself up slowly. "Well, actually, there's one thing I do remember – a little tune that gets stuck in my head sometimes. I don't know what it is though-"

"You hum it, or sing it. Maybe I'll recognize it," the other girl offered, though she was still half-absorbed in trying to work out why she knew this poem. If Jack was here, he would probably know. She knew that he was something like an expert when it came to all child-related stories or songs; he had learnt them for his sister.

"Well, okay." The blonde girl began to hum the tune, occasionally stopping to try to remember more of it, or correcting it when she felt it didn't sound right. The more Tooth listened, the more she felt a strange wave of familiarity creeping on her again. Then suddenly, she stared at the words on the panels of the brooch, and everything clicked.

"It's not a poem. It's a lullaby," she gasped, covering her mouth when at the moment she feared that she had said that too loud. There was no one in sight though, except a bewildered Rapunzel.

"What?" The girl asked, her blinking at her companion.

"This." Tooth shoved the opened brooch in blonde's hands. "It's a lullaby. I didn't remember it, until you started humming it. That's the tune!"

"What?" Rapunzel repeated, astonished as she gazed at the engraved words, then at the District 10 girl.

"Don't you see?" The girl exclaimed in excitement. "You just remembered your childhood lullaby. It's a clue! Well, if we get out here alive. But it's a clue, nonetheless. Now let's see, how does it go…"

She mulled for a moment, turning her back on the perplexed girl. Then Tooth started to sing, trying to fit the words with the tune, "_Flower, gleam and show_- no, _glow_. _Let your power shine_ – or was it 'Let your power be mine'? Doesn't fit that well. _Make the clock reverse,__Bring back what once was mine –_ ah that's where 'mine' goes. Okay, _heal what has been hurt. Change the fate's design. Save what has been-_"

A soft but panicked cry from her companion made her spin back. Tooth's jaw nearly hit the ground when she saw a radiant, yellow glow emanating from the girl's blonde braid. It faded off in a second, but both girls knew that their eyes hadn't playing tricks on them.

"I swear I don't what just happened!" Rapunzel was anxious to make that clear.

Tooth was about to voice her own bafflement when she heard a creak in the woods. She turned around, peering through the fog, perking up her ears. Another rustle of leaves and heavy steps confirmed her suspicions.

Her companion was mumbling something while gazing down at her golden hair when Tooth interrupted her nervously, "Pack. _Now_."

Rapunzel glance up, surprised - not that much could surprise her as much as ten seconds ago. Tooth was on the ball and clumsily stuffing their equipment in the small sling bag they had, while scanning the forest every now and then. The girl was swearing under her breath.

"What's happening?" Rapunzel asked, as she stamped out the fire and picked her frying pan.

Tooth's expression was grim. "They saw the glow. They've got us."

The District 10 girl knew that she didn't need to explain who 'they' were, because the companion suddenly became as frantic as herself.

The girls were racing through the woods once more within seconds, sparing a glance behind them every now and then. The District 10 girl had slapped the night glasses over her eyes, taking Rapunzel's hand and led her through the darkness.

Behind them, they caught glimpses of fire. That could mean their hunters were incredibly stupid, or incredibly confident. Tooth knew which it was.

Their pursuers were far more athletic than themselves, and Tooth became increasingly aware that the wild yelling and hooting going on behind them meant that they would soon be overtaken.

Dragging Rapunzel behind a large shrub, she whipped off the glasses and handed it the alarmed blonde. She did likewise with the sling bag.

"Don't stop running," she told the girl, "and use the frying pan if you need to." Her fist clenched around the metal handle of her sword. "I'll buy you time."

"What? No!" The girl protested, clinging to her arm. Her green eyes had both fear and determination. "We can still lose them!"

"_We_ can't," Tooth disagreed firmly, removing the girl's arm. In a kinder tone, she said, "It was nice meeting you, Rapunzel."

The blonde girl shook her head, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but the older girl gave her hard shove. "Go!"

Eventually, she obeyed, putting on the glasses before speeding off. Tooth listened carefully for the pursuers, before picking a tree and climbing up. She perched one of its lowest branches, her sword poised high as she waited for the Careers. The glow of their torchers was coming nearer, and she could make out two figures; one whooping and howling as they sprinted past the trees.

She took deep breaths, resting the blunted end steel blade near her forehead, preparing her mind for the battle. She recognized the howling Career as Scar-face, and that brought a dark grin on her face. Maybe she could finally put him down.

She didn't have any training with the sword, true, but when she wanted to, there were a lot of things that Toothiana could do if she put her mind to it. And now, her mind was set on protecting the trusting blonde girl fleeing for her life.

She readied herself as her their thudding feet drew closer, half-standing as she prepared to launch herself in battle. When the Careers came running towards her tree, she sprung up, flying at them. Her throat released a fearsome cry as she swung the blade at their faces.

Jack wasn't the only guardian, after all. How else did they suppose she acheived her score of nine?

While thrashing hurriedly through the woods, Rapunzel's feet jolted to a halt when she heard a cannon shot in the air. She waited, and waited, but there was only one shot.

She didn't see their pursuers, but she was sure that there was more than one. And careers weren't ones to abandon prey, so that meant that…

She felt like breaking into sobs, but she couldn't.

Instead, she calmly removed her glasses, drawing herself up straight before raising three fingers to her lips, then holding it out towards the direction she had been running from.

Then, she slapped the glasses on once more, before continuing her mad dash through the forest.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**And… some people would kill me again after this chapter.**

**And yes, there will be good people who will die, but I promise that their deaths at least won't be glossed over like they mean nothing. I can't stand it when that happens.**

**From some feedback, I've found out that most readers are probably confused when I just refer to District numbers and not names, so I made this for reference. An edited version also be on my bio page for future reference.**

**CHARACTER DISTRICTS AND DESCRIPTIONS (This includes death recap):**

**District 1: **

**M: Shen **_**(Kung Fu Panda 2)**_

**Main Feature: Dyed white-hair with red tips, pale-skinned**

**Weapon/s: Small daggers, dart and shuriken. Long Sword.**

**F: Gothel **_**(Tangled)**_

**Main Feature: Long, Curly Black-hair, Tall **

**Weapon/s: Long Daggers**

**District 2: **

**M: Hiccup **_**(HTTYD)**_

**Main Feature: Looks like a Fishbone etc.**

**Weapon/s: (Y'll see)**

**F: Astrid **_**(HTTYD)**_

**Main Feature: Blonde bangs, single braid**

**Weapon/s: Axe (She's the only one who uses an axe, if that helps)**

**District 3: **

**M: Hiro **_**(Big Hero 6)**_

**Main Feature: Spiky Black hair, Gangly**

**Weapon/s: (Y'll see)**

**F: Honey Lemon **_**(Big Hero 6)**_** - DECEASED**

**Main Features: Glasses, Skinny, Tall, Blonde**

**Weapon/s: (Y'll see)**

**District 4: **

**M: Dagur **_**(Riders of Berk)**_

**Main Features: Scars across left eye, Red braid, Deranged expression (heh)**

**Weapon/s: Assortment, but largely - Large sword**

**F: Heather **_**(Riders of Berk)**_

**Main Features: Black bangs, Black braid**

**Weapon/s: Doubled-ended Spear**

**District 5: **

**M: Wee Dingwall **_**(Brave)**_** - DECEASED**

**Main Features: Crazy Yellow hair, Blur expression**

**Weapon/s: ?**

**F: Merida **_**(Brave)**_

**Main Features: Curly red hair/mane**

**Weapon/s: Bow (duh)**

**District 6: **

**M: Turbo **_**(Wreck-it Ralph)**_

**Main Features: Pale-skinned, Small-sized, Mood-swingy**

**Weapon/s: Mace (inspired by the candy-spectre. I'm serious)**

**F: Taffyta **_**(Wreck-it Ralph)**_

**Main Features: Blonde cropped hair, Small-sized**

**Weapon/s: Mace (inspired by her lollipop. Still not kidding.)**

**District 7: **

**M: Stabbing Eye-Patch **_**(Tangled)**_

**Main Feature: Eye Patch, Red Sideburns, Large muscular built**

**Weapon/s: Sword**

**F: Stabbington No-Eye-Patch **_**(Tangled)**_** - DECEASED**

**Main Features: Looks more like a guy than a girl (by virtue of being gender-bented by me), Red, Large muscular built**

**Weapon/s: Machetes**

**District 8: **

**M: Greno **_**(Tangled) **_**- DECEASED**

**Main Feature: Muscular, big-sized**

**Weapon: Cleaver**

**F: Rapunzel **_**(Tangled)**_

**Main Feature: Long Blonde Braid**

**Weapon: Frying Pan, and (Y'll see, if you haven't already)**

**District 9:**

**M: Nameless boy - DECEASED**

**F: Nameless girl **

**District 10:**

**M: Jack **_**(ROTG)**_

**Main Feature: Brown-hair, Brown-eyes, Amazing good looks**

**Weapon/s: (Y'll see)**

**F: Tooth **_**(ROTG)**_** - DECEASED**

**Main Feature: Petite Figure, Slender**

**Weapon/s: (Y'll see)**

**District 11: **

**M: Ralph **_**(Wreck-it Ralph)**_

**Main Features: Huge-sized, Large-hands**

**Weapon: (Y'll see)**

**F: Vanellope **_**(Wreck-it Ralph)**_

**Main Features: Dirty Black hair ponytail and hair slides, Small-sized**

**Weapons: (Y'll see)**

**District 12: **

**M: Hans **_**(Frozen)**_

**Main Features: Redheaded, Side-burns, Good looks**

**Weapons: Cross-bow and Sword (previously)**

**F: Elsa **_**(Frozen)**_

**Main Features: Platinum-blonde braid**

**Weapons: Erm…obvious much?**

**Hope it's easier after this. I'll try to use names more, and if I can't, I'll refer to their weapons or their features.**

**Up Next: **

_**-the fact it was a book piqued his interest-**_

_**-**__** the most beautiful thing that the blonde had seen-**_

"_**-The Careers are coming.-"**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**A Belated Merry Christmas to you all! Sorry for the slightly later update. Internet broke down, and it only got up today! Eventually when the year starts, my updates will become fewer and further between, so enjoy this time, yah.**

**Mailbox: **

**A way to uncreative girl: Thank you so much! Your reviews are always such a cheer! Aww, thanks for the ice cream (adds it to crushed oreos and ice, then put in blender, then drinks high-caloried drink)**

**ElvisRules41: Hiro's a genius, but several instances in the movie suggested that he's lacking in the common sense department so what (can't give example becos potential spoilers) – so for what happened in this chapter, he totally deserved it. The Career people and Gaston's mob have a lot in common, and I wouldn't even remove the torches and pitchforks … Anna's going to be a huge emotional turmoil – she's got so many crazy things happening for her. Sometime later I'll probably insert her POV somewhere about this. I'm glad Elsa's POV was enough. There are only so many ways you can describe ice-formations (my core four: ice wall, ice boulder, ice spikes, icicles. Tada!) Thanks for reviewing!**

**SmilingStarcat: Haha… winter and food…that's one of my favourite portions that come later. Can't tell you why yet… (but it's something to do with Jack) Thank you a lot for your feedback! I'll change my writing style(hopefully). It just that I feel uncomfortable when I keep using names over and over, but I'll get around it.**

**Awsomaniatica: Those who can challenge Elsa would, but those who can't will surely flee from her (well, most except…). I'll try to use names more often, sorry about the confusion. Yikes.**

**Guest: I'm really sorry, but I really can't promise Jelsa. I can only promise that the two would be close (yeah, vague). I'm not sure if what I'm writing is considered Jelsa (since all the Jelsa fics I've read were very sopp, sappy and kissy, and that's not really my angle for Jack and Elsa, - or even this story, in general) so really don't know. I'm sorry, but I do know how you feel. I treat httyd fics that don't have Hiccstrid in it that way – sadly.**

**mariemarc44: I completely agree with your points on Merida, but she does have a few redeeming points. Truth about Brave – it's my least favorite out of the all the films referenced in this fic alone (even against Big Hero 6 and Wreck-it Ralph, especially Wreck-it Ralph – I still think it deserved the 2012 Oscar, but nevermind) – but it has it's good moments (for me, it's the first ten minutes +), and I adore the song 'Noble Maiden Fair'. I guess your justification for Jelsa makes sense, though I'm reluctant to admit so. My guts doesn't like it much though. Thank you so much! There's going to be more suspense-full stuff in the future, so I hope you like what's coming.**

**Guest: Thank you very much! How you like what's coming.**

**Riverfall: I guess your reasons are very convincing for why Jelsa could work, but I guess part of the problem is that I'm very stuck on canonical stuff (ironically, I'm actually writing this huge crossover) and also because I found nice Jarida pictures on Deviantart (no, I don't ship Jarida. I couldn't even read a fic on it, because I was cringing too much). So I generally have mixed views about Jelsa. I can promise you however that Jack and Elsa are not going to be exactly just 'good friends'…**

**Thank you for your reviews guys! A belated Merry Christmas, and… Hannukkah? (I'm not really sure when it starts, or even if I spelt it right)**

**God Bless you one and all!**

**Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	18. Chapter 17: The Calm Before

The Guardians Games: Chapter 17

Chapter 17: The Calm Before

* * *

><p><strong>Capitol - Lucky Cat Bar<strong>

It was early in the morning, and the customers in the bar were few. Flynn Rider – or in his true name, Eugene - wasn't that concerned though. In his opinion, 'few' was good.

The bar had a breakfast menu, and he had ordered coffee and donuts, but he hadn't touched either of them after they had arrived. He was twitching to get himself an alcoholic beverage - the stronger the better - but he promised himself that he wouldn't. Not until it was over, at least.

She came strutting in around five-forty. Most of the Capitol was still asleep at this hour, and that meant that there wasn't much activity going on in the Arena, so now was a good time to meet. Even if something drastic happened, the television playing behind the counter was still playing the live feed of the happenings in the playing field.

By noting her ever-moving jaws, he wondered if there ever was a time she wasn't chewing on gum. Scanning around the room, she finally spotted him sitting in the innermost table, almost concealed by the draperies hung from the ceiling. She made a beeline towards it, before plonking herself down on a seat opposite his. The sky was still dark outside, so the glowing candles that lined ornate table would have made it a romantic atmosphere, if both parties didn't look so cross and exhausted.

"Help yourself." Flynn gestured at the pastry and coffee.

Gogo wasted no time in removed the gum from her mouth, then sticking it to the coffee cup. She dumped a teaspoon of sugar in the coffee, before saying, "This had better be good, Rider."

If this was an ordinary day, steeliness of her tone would have sent Flynn scurrying off to the Training Centre in fear, but Eugene was way too determined to let her cool gaze scare him off today.

He didn't beat around the bush. "I want an alliance. Your mentee and mine."

Gogo raised a brow as she took a gulp from her cup. Setting it back down on its saucer, she folded her arms and leaned back. "Let me guess. The sponsors backed out?"

His grimace confirmed her assumption. "Everyone's still a bit wary moving around… _mutants_." His reluctance to use the word was apparent. "Fortunately, the hubbub about Rapunzel's hasn't been as bad as the ice girl's."

The black-haired girl shook her bangs back, scoffing. "Yeah, her hair just glows when someone sings. I doubt the Capitol has anything to worry about her compared to a tribute who could freeze up the whole arena at will." Shifting herself slightly in the metal chair, she asked, "I assume that when you say 'alliance', you mean the whole deal, right?"

"What else?"

There was a brief pause as both their eyes went to the television screen, where the cameras showed a discussion at the Careers' base. In the background, Eugene noted that a small, black-haired boy was patting the dirt ground around a spectacular heap of supplies. One of the Careers yelled something at him, and the boy scowled, but didn't rebut. Struggling to stand, he limped over to another spot on the ground. His more-than-usual unkempt hair and the circles around his eyes showed just how truly haggard he was. One of the Careers shoved him aside, causing him to cry out as his hand went to his bandaged leg. The Career had no pity, demanding him to 'get back to work, scum.'

Spinning back to the taller man, Gogo told him shortly, "No."

Eugene seemed surprised at how final her answer was. "Wha-Well, why not? They'd work good together."

Gogo jerked her head at the television screen. "My mentee has undergone three potentially fatal incidents yesterday, and I think he's got problems on his plate without to hunt down some distressed girl hidden who-knows-where."

Eugene began protesting, "It doesn't have to be immediate, you know-"

"That's not the main problem," she cut him off as she dipped the donut into the coffee. "The thing is Hiro has a task to complete, and he doesn't need your, or even _my_, interference in how he decides to carry it out." Taking a bite of the soaked donut, she dropped rest down on the plate. "I'm not closing any deals. Sorry, Rider."

Just as she got to her feet, Eugene grabbed her by the wrist. "Wait!"

Normally, she would have punched him square between the eyes, but something in his desperate visage cooled her temper, so she lowered her arm instead. He pleaded – a manner that seemed out of place for his peacock-proud self, "C'mon, Leiko, as a friend. Help me help her."

Gogo gritted her teeth together, then she sighed and dropped in back in the seat. When he let go of her, she explained, "The issue here isn't friendship, or deals, or anything, Rider. Hiro's carry a huge burden here - there are only _five_, for crying out loud."

She muttered several obscenities before continuing. "A lot of the plans had already gone awry, and I don't want to stress him out. I know you're just trying to help your mentee, but try to understand," her hands balled into fists, her voice breaking slightly, "that I've already lost _two_ of my best friends in the Arena. I can't risk losing a third." The look she shot him was full of genuine sympathy. "Good luck in finding another way."

Before he had a chance, she had already whipped out her card and paid the electronic register attached to their table – he should have expected that, of course, given how independent she was. Taking only one more glance at the television screen, she rose to her feet and left the bar.

Picking up the remaining pastry and shoving it in his mouth, Eugene removed his electronic communicator from his vest pocket, and was surprised to note that there was already a reply to his earlier message. Opening it up quickly, he read, _'Why should I risk the entire operation to save some random blonde?'_

He typed back his message furiously. _'Because my intel and connections made this operation possible in the first place. You owe me.'_

There was a long pause, before an answer popped up._ 'Don't flatter yourself. I'm the one who's actually in the Game Centre.' _He had a retort ready, when another message came through. '_Why so frantic to keep this one alive? You didn't bother about the other three.'_

Flynn's answer was short and immediate. _'None of your business.'_

'_You care about this girl, don't you?'_ He could almost imagine a taunting grin behind it.

He thought for a while, before typing back, _'Would admitting such make you more inclined to do something?'_

'_Maybe...'_

Haltingly, he entered his answer, reluctantly hitting the 'send' button. _'She's important to me.'_

The following break was so long that Flynn was almost sure the person on the other end had hung up, but then a reply came through, _'I'll look into it, but no promises. If this one blows up in our faces again, we won't get another chance.'_

After the last message, Flynn spent many minutes inhaling and exhaling slowly, rubbing his temple as he considered his options. The memory of how terrified the blonde girl seemed as she fled from the Careers the previous night was still ingrained deeply in his head, though he valiantly fought to the image as he tried to process rationally.

When he finally got out of his seat, his jaw was tight and his eyes were dark. He began sending out an array of messages, which he was sure would be answered soon enough. His newest idea wasn't the surest either, but it could work if he played all his pieces right. All it took was some interrogating, some blackmail, and a whole lot of _thievery_.

* * *

><p><strong>Summer Quarter<strong>

_'That's right, Gamemakers. I'm a small, unimportant kid who's just making something boring from a bunch of wooden objects. It's okay, you don't need to keep the cameras on me. Why don't you take your time? Maybe go and film the others killing – um, doing their thing? Don't need to watch me. Don't need to bother me. Please, please don't bother me...'_

It was all in his head, and he was glad he hadn't accidentally said anything out loud, because, well, they'd probably send a charging bull in his way just to spite him.

The summer quarter was supposed to be warm, but sometimes the temperatures would suddenly plunge in shadows, then the minute he stepped into the light he would become horribly hot all over again. It was the perfect weather to catch the flu, and he rather dreaded that. It would just embarrassing if he died from a cold.

Throughout his travels deeper and deeper into the rocky hills and forests, Hiccup hadn't encountered any tributes this morning or last night, and for that he was thankful. He knew he wasn't the smallest in the set, but he was still one of the most vulnerable. Well, hopefully the wooden weapon on his lap would change that, if nothing else.

It was a refined version of the handheld catapult he had built in during the judging session, and he was quite pleased with it so far. It was much smaller and lighter than the previous model, but could shoot heavier objects, and further too. Now he quite regretted that he didn't pick up any weapons at the Horn. It would be cool if he could shoot a spear from his catapult (well, if he could even lift one) – or a crossbow bolt (then he should have just taken a crossbow - wait, he couldn't lift it long enough to aim it) – or some _daggers_…

In his brain, an alarming image suddenly burst forth; depicting the shiny silver blade, stained in sticky crimson, sticking out of the dying girl's stomach-

He lurched forward, making retching motions, covering his mouth as a precaution. Seeing that he wasn't going to be sick after all, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he sat himself down damp, rotting old log. He hadn't taken that long to build the catapult, but he suddenly felt very exhausted. He glanced down at his remaining materials; some left over rope and nets, one of two nails, his tool box and the red bag.

As he rolled the nets and rope again, he paused a moment to stare at the bag. He hadn't the time to examine it yesterday, since he had been caught up in searching for water, and foraging for berries and bark to eat (he had to admit the bark agreed with him more than the berries did). Scanning around himself first, he laid his catapult on by his side before picking up the bag. It wasn't really red anymore, since he had spent a good part of yesterday smearing it with mud and berry juice to diminish its glaring reddishness – he was a walking target, but he didn't need to make himself an _obvious_ walking target.

Unzipping it, he was surprised to find no food whatsoever in the bag, but instead more strange materials; a coils of metal wire, thin, but strong; several vials of strange chemicals, strapped into a leather case; a kind of transparent breathing mask of sorts that he could easily slid over his face.

Then, there was the strangest object of them all. It was fairly thick, leather-bound though not particularly heavy.

It was a book.

Everything in the Arena was supposed to help you in survival, some way or another, but a _book_? Sure, being loner and nerd, books helped him pull through his humiliating existence in District 2, but _this_ was just weird. How far up was this on Marlow's Hierarchy of Needs?

Still, the fact it was a _book_ piqued his interest.

Unconsciously, the hand that rested on his wooden weapon now slid underneath the leather cover, while the other opened the book. Flipping the page, he started at the front first. His eyes automatically rested on the content page, as he silently mused to himself, his fingers running across the lines.

"_Strike Class. Fear Class. Mystery Class-"_

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter – Lakeside Cave<strong>

Jack's situation was surprisingly peaceful. Almost comfortable.

He was huddled up near a small fire he had made this morning, warming his frozen fingers. Not far away, he had rested his fishing rod on a nearby stone. Every now and then, he would return to check on it, or to at least burrow open the hole in the frozen lake again so that the fishing line didn't get stuck. Within half an hour's time, he had caught two carps and had them roasting over the fire after he cleaned it.

The fishing rod and lighter hadn't appeared out of thin air - they had _dropped_ out of thin air. Last night, he had managed to find an empty but very cold cave to sleep in. He had only left it for a moment to watch death recap, when he had found something had been deposited right at the cave mouth - a gift from his sponsors, he had realized when he saw the small parachutes attached.

The first gift was a lighter, which he had thanked the heavens - and Bunnymund - for, since making a fire without a starter was painful in wintertime. The second had been a fishing rod, with a note attached, _'RACK OFF, YOU BLOODY SHOW PONY._'

Considering he was supposed to be a show-off in these games - more of his looks than his skills, honestly - he hadn't the faintest idea if that was a note was an encouragement or a rebuke. Whatever happened, thanks to the gifts, he had slept soundly throughout the night without interruption.

After he had eaten his fill, he quickly put out his flames, lest any wandering tribute happen to see the smoke. He was still freezing, so he rubbed his hands together. He hoped that Bunnymund would take the hint and maybe send in some gloves, or even a nice woolly overcoat. He had to have throngs of sponsors, right? A pair of gloves couldn't be that expensive compared to a fishing rod.

Gazing out of the cave into the glaring white snow, an alarming sight greeted him. Shading his eyes, he stepped out cave to squint through the glaring snow. In the distance, he could make out a steady stream of greenish-yellow smoke rising lower down the mountain. It was so large and smoky he didn't doubt that it could be seen across quarters. Jack cocked his head towards it, confounded. It would take a fool to burn so blatantly and brightly – he'd give his position away to other tributes, especially the Careers. _Unless…_

Colored smoke - it was a _signal_.

He didn't know what the signal itself meant, but it couldn't be good. It seemed that he would have to approach the girl sooner than he thought. He supposed that as long as he didn't end up being chopped up into sashimi this time, he could consider himself lucky.

Pocketing the lighter and grabbing the fishing rod, he stamped out the last of the glowing embers before leaving the cave. As he readied himself for a very long and tiring hike up the mountain, a faint pinging sound from the cave mouth caught his attention once more.

Just like yesterday, a little parachute was sitting there, waiting eagerly to found. Jack grinned as he approached it, imagining that his pair of gloves had arrived, but the smile fell away when he discovered what it was.

Picking up to the pair of metal blades, he dryly asked the sky, "Seriously?"

The sky didn't oblige a reply.

"The snow here is like three feet thick, and I'm on a mountain," he continued, as if the silence was a sign of being heard. "You could have at least sent them with boots on. Not" – he pointed at the offending metal blades – "strap-on skates. C'mon!"

There was obviously no response, but he guessed that his complaint would amuse some, and possibly irritate his mentor. He had slung the skates – if one could just call those small metal blades 'skates' - over his shoulders with the fishing rod before he noticed that there was note in the parachute container. Picking it up, he unfolded it.

_I HOPE YOU'RE PLEASED. – B_

Jack blinked, scrunching up his face as he deliberated on what his mentor could possibly mean – after all, he did do a whole lot of stuff that he wasn't supposed to do already: spare a boy's life, track down a mutant ice-powered girl, shout at the sky…

"You have to be more specific!" He told the sky again, waving the slip wildly. Thinking of his flabbergasted mentor's response to that brought a chuckle up his throat, and suddenly he was in a good mood again. With a lofty grin, he dragged himself through the snow, heading towards to the mountain's peak.

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter – Mountain Foot<strong>

The three Careers resting at the camp were all at in entirely different states of mind.

Heather was in one of vigilance. She had her spear constantly in hand, glancing around the thick snowy forest every now and then, just in case some ferocious ice monster came running along. Gothel, on the other hand, was extremely relaxed. She was cooking up 'brunch' for them, since she was the only one of them who actually knew how to cook. She was engaged in conversation with Hans, the most reluctant member of the Career Pack. He was rather uncomfortable, especially at how Gothel kept simpering coquettishly at him, but he stayed civil. Both ladies could rip him in shreds the less than a minute if they wanted to.

Heather was the first to spot the approaching Careers and informed the others. She ran forward to greet them, but was only cold-shouldered by the leading blonde girl, and received morose expressions from the two boys trailing behind.

"Well, top to the morning to you too," Heather remarked dryly, flicking back her black bangs from her eyes.

Astrid's face, which had only been dark so far, turned positively livid at the sight of the boy with sideburns. Without a word, she marched over to the talking boy and punched him in his injured ribs. The boy doubled over, sliding off the stone that he had been sitting on. Gothel drew herself back in shock, while Heather only raised her brows. The two boy Careers were still in a rather surly mood, so they ignored the exchange while they dropped the metal bottles and torches they had been carrying on the ground, then warming themselves by the fire.

"You signaled on purpose, didn't you?" Astrid shouted at the cringing boy. "You were _warning_ her!"

"Astrid, dear," Gothel interrupted, in what was somewhat motherly, mostly patronizing tone, "I told him to light it. We needed back up. Now, please calm down and try not to ruin his nose. I like it just where it is." That earned a look of disbelief from the redhead boy. "Don't you worry, dearie. The ice witch isn't going anywhere."

"What do you mean?" Astrid demanded curtly, though she allowed the District 12 boy to crawl back to his seat.

Gothel didn't answer, simply humming a little tune as she continued to stir the soup in the pot. She gave a sidelong glance to the moody-looking boys, then back at the short blonde. "Isn't there anyone guarding the base camp? Or don't we have one?"

"We do," the District 2 girl answered, giving Hans one last threatening glare before setting herself on a nearby stone. "A nice spot under a cliff face in the Spring Quarter. Nearby a river too."

"So who's guarding?"

"The boy from 3's handling it," was Astrid's answer before she took her own canteen of soup. After nearly an hour of alternating between trekking and running in the freezing cold, the warm liquid flowing down her throat felt very good.

"Other one? When I said that we needed hands, I didn't mean spare _everybody_," Gothel remarked at her, before smiling slightingly. "Ah, well, I suppose we aren't _all _perfect." Astrid cocked her head towards the older girl, sending a dark look, but the other girl simply wore an innocuous expression as if there were no derision in her words.

"The techie was pretty useful, though." Dagur suddenly broke his sulky silence. "He set up quite an impressive defense system."

"Besides," Astrid cut in, her blue eyes boring into the District 1 girl, "I thought we might need full manpower. Since, after all, you thought that this important enough to set up a signal fire _and tell everyone in the Arena where we are right now_."

"Where did you both get those wounds?" Heather asked the two boys, hoping to change the conversation topic. Right now, the tribute count was too high for them to erupt in full-blown conflict yet.

Dagur grunted, sullen all over again as he gazed blackly at his new bandages. Shen, however, was more willing to share. "During scouting last night, we came across the girl from District 10. She put up quite a fight."

The scarred boy added several inaudible curses at that, folding up his arms, pouting. The white-haired boy shot a questioning glance at him, before continuing, "Her form was terrible, but her spirit was admirable. It didn't take me long to put her down."

"So that's where the cannon was from." All turned towards to the District 12 tribute, giving him pointed glares. He quickly dropped his own gaze, staring down at the snow as they resumed their chat.

"However," Shen went on, though in a lower voice. "_He_ received quite a number of blows from her, in some especially _sensitive_ areas." His eyes darting pointedly at the ill-humoured boy, an amused expression appearing on his own face. "He's still rather …_sore_, about it."

Heather giggled slightly, but turning it quickly into a cough when Dagur looked up again. She knew him well enough to know that he often went into vicious rages – berserk, they called it, and knew better than to tempt him. They didn't call the boy 'deranged' for nothing.

Astrid spoke next. "You still haven't told me how you know that the ice witch isn't going to run," she reminded the tall girl, who adding some salt to the soup now. "Why are we still here, anyway? We should be hunting her down, not sitting around talking."

"Patience, child." Gothel's voice was a mixture of condescension and scorn.

Astrid narrowed her brows. "Don't call me that. You're not my mum."

"Obviously. You're much too aggressive for that," Gothel retorted maliciously, though her expression remained calm and poised.

The blonde looked like she was going to hack off the black-haired girl's limbs, when finally Heather put in, "Climb a stone, then look towards your right. You'll see _it_ then."

Though her face was as black as thunder, Astrid's curiosity got the better of her, so she did as the black-braided girl had suggested. Shifting her eyes towards the right, she couldn't stop her jaws from dropping.

Far in the distance, on the peak of the highest snow-covered mountain, a large ice structure gleamed blue and pink in the morning sun. It was possibly the most beautiful thing that the blonde had seen since entering the Capitol.

It was a castle made entirely of _ice_.

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter – Mountain Peak<strong>

With her powers, you'd think she'd get everything right. She had managed to build her own fort of defense – well, not just for defense, but rather comfort and aesthetic satisfaction. She had managed to treat her own wounds, evidence being her scarred but otherwise clean head and arm wounds. But that's where it stopped.

Elsa had left the ice castle for early in the morning to go hunting. Making a snare exactly the way she had learnt it during the training sessions - which meant out of wood only -she had managed to catch a small cotton rabbit. Though her heart hadn't really into it, she had slain the poor beast as quickly as possible with a sharp wooden stick she had found. Then, and only then, had she crafted a snow knife to skin her game. Gathering some firewood, she had taken her kill and her kindling back to the castle.

It was only when she had dropped all her items on the crystalline table that she had just willed into existence, had she realized the main issue.

She was going to _cook_ her breakfast. By starting a _fire_. In a castle of _ice_.

Considering that she had been spending a good part of her life concealing her powers, she didn't really know what would happen. Maybe the ice would be strong enough to withstand the heat, or maybe she'd find herself in a flooded mess, rolling off the mountain with her castle as her surfboard.

There was only one way to find out, so she created a little fire pit in the ice ground, then lay the wood in it. She shut her eyes, trying to remember the exact steps, before she picked up a stick, driving one of its points in to a piece of bark. Rubbing the stick furiously, she remembered to move her arms up and down. However, all that happened was that all the wood suddenly gained an extra coating snow.

With a groan, she pursed her lips together as she brushed off the snow, trying again. In the passing minutes, she grew increasingly frustrated, as more and more snow just kept piling up.

She heard a light chuckle, followed by a cheery voice, "It'll never catch on."

Immediately, she spun herself to her feet, whipping a barricade of icicles around her. Her body shifted towards the origin of the voice, and she willed a set of spikes to surround that area, allowing them to slowly grow upwards and outwards.

"Whoa! Whoa! _Time out_!" The intruder called out in panic. It was the pretty boy from District 10. In one hand he carried a fishing rod, and the other a pair of skates. He then paused as he examined the gradually growing ice spikes, tapping one tip with his finger, then drawing it back sharply when it started to bleed. "Wow, you make them good." He peered closely at her. "Hey, I like what you did with the clothes. White's good on you."

She knew she was expected to kill him, but something stayed her hand. She hadn't heard him come into the castle, so chances were that he had snuck in while she was out – she made a note to create something guard against such happenings from repeating later. But if he had been watching her so long and hadn't attacked, perhaps – perhaps, he didn't meant any harm. _Yet_. "What do you want?"

"I'm here áto warn you," he said, backing away discretely from the sharp stalacmites that surrounded him, only to hit his back against the ice wall. "The Careers are coming."

Was that all that he had? She had already guessed that on her own. "I know that. Let them come. I'm ready for them."

"You don't understand. I spied on their camp. All five – no, six of them are coming. And they're ready for you too."

"What are you doing here, Ten?" She cut in, raising her eyebrow warily at him.

The boy looked rather annoyed at how he had been addressed. "Name's Jack. I've introduced myself before, remember? Didn't anyone actually get around learning the names of other tributes? At all?"

"Well, what's my name?"

"Elise!" He answered without hesitation, but the plaintive look she gave him led him to try again. "Ella! No, Ellis! Urgh..." he scrunched his face as he thought, before pleadingly asking, "Elsie?"

She shook her head at all tries, her suspicion fading away into vexed bafflement.

The boy leaned his head back against the ice wall, saying something under his breath. All she caught from his mutterings were 'deserved that' and 'dubbing people angel'.

Against her better judgment, she lowered her arms, but didn't draw back the spikes. "It's Elsa."

The boy laughed triumphantly, almost cutting his arms at the icicles when he punched the air. "I knew it started with an 'El'!"

She only hardened her glare. Finally, she repeated her question, "What do you want, Jack?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He answered, grinning cheekily at her. He had very nice teeth, she noted, and the mischief gleaming in his blue eyes was rather alluring. No wonder he became the Capitol's darling the minute he went on parade.

Raising her arms again as a precaution, she told him, "No, it isn't."

"Simple. I want an alliance with you."

She scoffed at that. "Well, why would _I_ want to ally myself with _you_? In case you haven't noticed" – she formed a snowflake within her open palm – "I'm pretty self-sufficient." With that said, the snowflake morphed in an ice dart, and it flew across the room, breaking when it struck the wall, but not without cracking it first.

The boy, Jack, opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, rubbing his lip as he thought. His eyes then fell to the icy floor of the castle, before his face lit up. "You can't cook, can you?"

He had her stumped. _Again_.

"Just to let you know, I've already had two cods this morning," he added with a sly grin. "Roasted them over a fire. Absolutely de-licious." Elsa felt like drooling, but she was far too reserved to show it. "Oh, and the fire stoking technique? It only works in dry weather." He knew he got her at that point, and he was smirking triumphantly away.

She dropped her arms, sighing as she gazed at the snow covered fire pit, then back at the boy.

"_You know you need me_," Jack said in a sing-song voice, tugging playfully again the icicles around him.

She turned away from him for a moment, contemplating her options. On one hand, it was extremely risky to take on ally. It was said that at one point the Careers wanted him in their Pack, which meant he had some skill in battle. He could back-stab her anytime, especially since she couldn't kill him with her ice. On another hand, while arrogant and imprudent, he seemed to a decent fellow, and she really needed something to eat. Raw meat, even if chilled, somehow wasn't that appealing.

Besides, even though he knew about her powers, he still tried making a connection with her. He didn't see her as … a _monster_.

When she looked down at her hands, for a brief moment another worry surfaced. But what if she ended up hurting him? Not that that was supposed to a bad thing, in the Games…

Crackling sounds and low calls outside the castle stole her attention, and she found herself running to the balcony, peering downstairs. A quick scan confirmed her thought. The Careers were here. And that wasn't the worst part.

Every single one of them bore a torch, glowing and burning bright orange. Some of them crossed the bridge leading to the castle, hurrying to the castle walls before splashing some transparent liquid over them. One was stacking metal tin bottles near another part of the castle wall, but not before opening another can of clear liquid containing the clear liquid and pouring over the bottles. When they withdrew from the castle across the bridge, another one of them tossed her torch at the liquid, then another at the metal cans.

When liquid burst into the flame, so did the walls, in spite of the sharp cold. When the flames started licking around the metal cans, there sometime before a sudden explosion shook the castle, throwing her back into the room. She could hear the chandelier above her shaking and the walls below her cracking.

"They're here, aren't they?" She heard the boy stuck in the icicle prison say. "We have to go."

"Yes," she answered absently, not noting his use of 'we'. She could fix the castle, certainly, but what good would it be? If she could only use her powers in defense, the Careers' bigger numbers would eventually overwhelm her. She took one more glance at the attackers before preparing to flee.

But then her eyes caught sight of something - or rather someone – and her feet froze to the ground.

"Hey, Ice princess? I'm pretty chill at the moment, but I don't want to die by ice, or fire," Jack called across the room, but she didn't hear him. She was far too busy controlling her emotions of both disbelief and rage.

For she had seen the boy with sideburns marching up the ice steps, the burning, blazing flame in his hand matching the warm red of his hair.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**I didn't see any phones in the THG films so far, so I'm just calling them 'electronic communicators' . Who can say what phones would be called in the future?**

**Hiccup's POV has a very obvious foreshadow to big storyline. Yep.**

**I'm sure y'll have a good guess what Bunnymund's latest message meant, even if Jack doesn't.**

**Yes, Elsa built an ice castle. Smack in the middle of the Arena. Get over it.**

**So Jack and Elsa finally meet on the Arena. What would come of it?**

**The clear liquid is kerosene, and the metal bottles contain aerosol (they can be containing stuff like pest repellent, or maybe face paint for camouflage, or disinfectant, use your imagination. ) So for here, the kerosene is what catches fire and the aerosol explodes is what explodes. Who came up with this idea? Not that important, but in my head it's Hiro who gives Astrid the idea by accident (not writing it in).**

**Up Next: **

"_**-**__**You can't take us all this time, Ice Witch!-"**_

"_**-Previous victim here. Who're you?-**_

"_**-But aren't we children?-"**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Hey guys. My school is killing me. I hate epistemology. If you've never heard of the word, good for you. **

**New Year's coming. Unlike Christmas, it's really not my favorite. They're just a reminder that I'm growing old. **

**Oh, yah, I'm not going to do the 100****th**** review thing after all, because by the time it happens, I'll be strapped in the electric chair called school. I'm grateful for an education, but it's just tiring sometimes.**

**Mailbox: **

**A way too uncreative girl: Thanks for liking the chappie! I notice that you're always one of the first few to review, so I really thank you for that! **

**Guest: Sorry. I'm quite a hardcore canon shipper. I'm already a bit reluctant on pulling off a Jelsa here, so Hiccelsa is definitely way off what I'm gonnado. Besides, I've planned out most of the story, so I can't change it. Terribly sorry.**

**QueenElsaofArendelle1934: (chap 7) Yep, I did put them in Districts acc. their films (except for Gothel and Shen). One reason for that is to give acknowledgement to their original films – it something some crossovers miss, and boy it is easy to; the other is because it makes my job easier when I write the sequel (whoops, did I say that.) Fred and Gogo both have their roles as secondary characters, more Gogo than Fred though (though Fred may have it bigger in the future). Baymax has his own place too, though I'm not sure how amusing it would be. (chap 17) As for romance between Jack and Elsa, no promises, but as you can tell from this chappie, something's happening for them both (maybe an alliance, maybe frienemies, who can say?) Action would be coming somewhere in the next chappie – but I'll admit action writing isn't my strongest point. Oh – who says Jack and Elsa will survive till the end? Thanks for reviewing!**

**Awsomaniatica: Astrid's conflict is going to play a big role in this entire fic – she'll always caught between wanting to win and not being completely pre-disposed to evil, and later on something else (Hint, hint!). Well, Punzie's gonna take some time to work out the other ability. For Tooth, I had her method of death planned very early in the story, which is sad, but I kinda wanted to show how heroic and brave she is/was – because she is a guardian, duh. It's also because I'm trying to establish Punz as a parallel to another THG character, but I'm thinking I'm failing… Thanks for your review!**

**ElvisRules41: Not the pitchfork, as you can see here, but I hope exploding aerosol is enough to keep things exciting. The Anna POV that I will write (eventually, someday, in about 5 chappies from now? Can't promise.) will definitely have Kristoff, because he's such a wonderful guy. And Anna must learn that.**

**Thanks for reviewing. I really appreciate them.**

**Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	19. Chapter 18: Breaking Point

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 18: Breaking Points

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter – Mountain Peak<strong>

"Not to pry or anything, but what happened to running?"

"Discarded," Elsa told him shortly, as she sealed her balcony door shut, icing up the gap. Whether she noticed or not, ice spikes began forming along the pillars of the crystal hall.

Jack's voice was alarmed - which was reasonable, since she had yet to release him from his icicle prison. "Are you _crazy_!"

"Perhaps," was all she answered, before she tore out of the hall, racing down the stairway.

The ice palace had two floors, the lower level being larger of the two. The door of lower level also was also directly connected to spiral ice stairs that stood over the crevice around the castle, which was why her first move was to sealed the entrance doors up.

However, two of the Careers – she could only vaguely make out their shapes through the ice, had begun hacking through the door. A moment later, the dark shapes at where the ice door once was disappeared. She half-wondered if they had given up trying to break in, when the ice wall suddenly exploded open, flinging herself back. Coughing, she waved away the mist and smoke, picking herself quickly out of the crystalline rubble.

The first to come through the door was the scarred boy from the fishing District. He charged head-on first, lunging with his humongous blade, but she wove herself out of the way in time, so that all that he struck was the ice wall. With a thought, she quickly formed a block of ice over his sword, integrating it into the walls, preventing him from yanking it out.

Whilst that Career was occupied in retrieving his weapon, she found herself dodging well-placed slashing from the axe-wielding girl of District 2. She managed to freeze the girl's axe to the ground at one point, but the girl's strength allowed her to free it just as fast.

"You can't take us all this time, Ice Witch!" the blonde girl snarled through clenched teeth, as she swung her axe, only to hit the ice boulder Elsa had constructed that second. "Not if you can't kill us!"

The girl was right. Too right. Besides her own ice, there was nothing she could kill them with, since she didn't have a single weapon. She could try stealing theirs, but she doubted the Careers would let her get hold of them. Even then, she didn't actually know how to use any weapons.

Though she was simmering on the inside, she forced herself to stay rational; to keep the ice in check. The Gamemakers had let her off easy the first time, but if she broke the rule, they would have no choice but to take action against her this time.

She was starting to really regret not running when she could. She could have built another ice bridge from her balcony perhaps, and run off from there, but she foolishly chose to stay. However, seeing a boy with a crossbow at the crumbling doorway reminded her why.

"_You_! How dare you come here!" She bellowed in fury, almost forgetting about the Career girl, ducking just in time to avoid a swerving double-blade. Hans had flinched back at her accusatory cry, but then hurriedly lifted the bow at her, firing. His aim was way off, however, and the bolt just whizzed past the Career's head instead.

"Watch it, moron!" The shorter girl's concentration broke for a moment to berate the District 12 boy. Taking opportunity of the distraction, Elsa willed a large ice club into her hands, swinging it against the Career girl, sending her crashing into to Hans. Both of them tumbled backwards onto the ice floor. The last three Careers were clambering in through the impromptu entrance way, so Elsa made it for the ice steps, back to the second level.

"Hey, _Frost Monster_!" One of the Careers called out. "You can't keep running! We can, and we will get you!"

She hustled up the steps, her heart racing as she heard their steps clanking against the ice. She could call down a boulder of ice to shield herself, but if it dropped on to a Careers and crushed him or her, would it be said that she broke the rule? She considered sending an icy blast their way, but what happens if one of them slipped on the steps and broke his neck in the process? Would that be considered a death by ice, or by circumstance?

She was beginning to really hate the rule.

When she dashed into the ice hall of the second floor, she wasn't surprised to find that Jack had been working his way out of the prison by sawing the ice spikes with his metal skates. Blushing that he had been caught red-handed, he step-sided that subject good-humoredly. "So, how's the defense plan going?"

"Badly," she admitted, as she positioned herself in the centre of the hall, her muscles tensing as she prepared for the coming attacking.

"Oh, _that's_ assuring," he quipped dryly, before he began slicing the icicles with new-found vigor. "Care to set me free?"

She opened her mouth to explain that, _no, she couldn't_, but the tributes from District 1 came running in. She knew it was useless, but she still warned them - or perhaps since they could kill her, and she couldn't kill them, it was a plea. "Stay back."

The boy – she remembered that his district mate had called him Shen – moved first, with a curtain of knives and darts flying towards her. She had shut her eyes at that moment, half-expecting her body to be riddled with the millions of blades, but when she opened them again, she was startled to find that she had drawn up the boulder up in time; every single blade caught in the sheet of ice.

"Go 'round her. C'mon!" she heard the girl tribute say, as their feet skirted across the glassy floor.

Both tributes began circling around her from opposite directions, their weapons held up high. Elsa kept her arm poised high, ready to react to the slightest move.

She noted from the corner of the eye that the District 1 girl was about to release a dagger from her palm, so she struck first. A well-aimed icy blast removed the knife from the surprised girl's grasp, before the Career found herself pinned to the wall by a dozen ice spikes, but none into her flesh. A carefully formed icicle grew towards her throat area.

"You can't kill me with _that_, you know," the girl growled, though she backed up to the wall again, staring at the gleaming tip.

"No, but it's not really her fault if you lean in too much, and get impaled _by accident_." The attentions of the battling tributes were suddenly taken up by the browned-haired boy who cheerfully prying off the broken icicles from his cell. Observing that the black-haired girl was watching him with much incredulity, he greeted her cordially, "Hey there. Previous victim here. Who're you?"

While that boy continued hacking away the icicles with his skates, Shen had made his next move. With several shuriken started flying before him, he charged forward at the same time, his curved blade above him. Elsa had a shield of ice ready, catching every dart, but Shen had danced around the ice gracefully, sweeping his blade from the side instead. Elsa shrunk herself backward in time, but his close proximity already put her at a disadvantage, and he knew that. There were million ways she could kill him now, but every one that she could think of all involved ice.

"Consider this a gift." Shen gestured to his blade, advancing a step for every one that she took backwards. She drew up an ice wall, but he sliced it to splinters coolly, continuing his monologue, "Well, a _parting_ gift. In that _it_ will part _you_." He offered her a cold grin. "Part of you _here_," his blade managed trimmed edge of her braid, while she could only drawback in shock as it became undone. "Part of you way _there_." The blade slashed across her chin, and she gave a yelp, raising her hand to it immediately. She shot an ice blast at his feet, but her over-wariness in aiming it gave him time to step around it. "And part of you _waaaay_ over _there_-" his head tilted to the side, an psychopathic craze in his eyes "-_staining_ the wall."

She could vaguely hear the District 10 boy yelling something, but it was just a buzz in her ears compared to her own thumping heart. The white-haired boy gave her a dark smile, his eyes widening with pleasure at her evident terror. The curved sword was pointed right over her heart, and she forcibly relaxed her breaths, trying to put as much distance between her and the deadly blade. So great was her fear that at that moment she was readied her arms behind her, prepared to break the rule should she need to.

Suddenly, the sword clattered to the floor as Shen grabbed his side, groaning in pain. She quickly pushed him away, freezing his feet, only to find that it was a bolt that pierced his side. Her head jerked up to the doorway, where Hans stood with a crossbow in hand, sighing in relief. He gave her a firm nod.

She was mystified as her mind was thrown in a whirl, as she unwilling tried to replace the words 'traitor' with 'savior'. That was why her brain barely registered Hans suddenly collapsing himself, before the black-braided girl tribute of District 4 removed her spear from his crumbling form. When her nervous system finally relayed the message, a silent scream escaped Elsa's lips. Her hand extended helplessly toward the injured boy. The black-haired attacker just shook back her bangs, before charging with spear in front of her.

Snapping back into reality at the last moment, Elsa drew up an ice shield to protect herself, but her eyes were hardened, her mind suddenly thinking with unfounded clarity.

There was no way she was just doing defence anymore.

When the black-braided girl had rolled around the shield, going around the back, Elsa shot an ice blast at spear first, casting it away. Then she willed to existence a boulder of ice, sending it the Career's way. The black-braided girl was gaping when she found herself being shoved backwards by the ice boulder. In retaliation, she swung her weight against it, but the slippery ice floor lent her feet insufficient friction to resist. Elsa added to the power of the blast, forcefully pushing the Career girl back until to she hit the sealed crystal balcony doors.

"What'cha gon'na do, Ice Freak?" The District 4 girl yelled, but the quivering in her voice revealed that it was all bravado. "Smash me with your ice-stuff?"

"No," Elsa answered levelly, though she winced at the girl's insult. Each one of them had thrown one in her face. _Freak, Witch, Monster…_

The ice boulder tore through the ice doors, flinging them violently aside as the girl was driven further and further back of the ice floors. Even she could hardly see her opponent anymore, Elsa was sure the black-braided girl was pressing hard the ice wall, while the ice floor crumbled away.

"I don't need to kill you, Four. When _gravity_ can do it for me."

The black-braided girl started to scream profanities, but Elsa gritted her teeth as she persisted in fueling the power. At the back of her head, she knew her sister, her hometown, were all watching this, and that made her madder. Of all the ways she could display her powers, she had to do the ugly part.

She was sure all the Capitol lunatics were watching her with much anticipation and admiration, cheering as she slowly but surely drove a girl – not an innocent one, but a _girl_ nonetheless – down to her icy grave, and herself driven to play the bad guy. The mutant freak. The ice monster.

The frosty spray burst against the ice boulder with new ferocity, and it eventually became too obvious that victim was already sobbing in fear. Elsa jerked head away as she was to cast out everything that she'd ever thought good of herself as she felt the balcony fence tore from its roots, toppling down the crevice, where her victim would surely join it.

"Elsa," a calm voice suddenly spoke out. The tone was soothing and kind. "Don't be the monster that they say you are."

The frozen rage burning in her soul dissipated. Blinking, she shook her head, as she started lowering her hands. Spinning around, her eyes met those of the brown-eyed boy, with a fishing rod and blunted strap-on-skates.

There were so many thing wrong with this moment: him was from another District, him telling her not to do what the Capitol, him speaking with such sincerity and kindness, herself actually listening…

_Whirrr!_ It was only the stillness of the air which allowed them to hear the axe flying at their face. A sharp shove later, Elsa found herself tackled to ground, feeling supremely annoyed to find the brown-haired boy on top of her, his face inches from her own.

"Oh, whoops," he said with a slightly embarrassed grin, as if they both hadn't just avoided a potentially life-ending situation. Elsa just glowered at him.

As they hustled to collect themselves, the blonde District 2 girl had already raced across the hall, starting dislodging her axe from the wall. Elsa noted that Hans, still on the ground, was struggling to lift his crossbow, aiming for the axe-wielder, clenching his teeth as he did.

His efforts went array at the last moment when the scarred boy from District 4 came running forth, kicking his arm. The bow jerked upwards instead, and the bolt went flying way off course. A'clink' sound was heard as it snapped the crystal hook that held the chandelier in its place.

Jack had scarcely yanked them both to their feet when they saw the magnificent mantelpiece falling above their heads. "Oh, c'mon."

Elsa immediately ducked him behind herself, raising her hand upwards.

It seemed that entire world was broke into silence in that moment, when all that was heard was the shattering of the ice against ice. Straight through the second floor did the heavy frame of the chandelier fall, down, down, down till it smashed into the first floor. As it did, the majestic pillars of ice cracked with finality, smattering against each other. The walls of spikes and icicles were leaning in, as the entirety of the castle was uprooted from its previously base - shaken by the fire, and perhaps its mistress' fear. Careers – or at least those that could – were escaping the crumbling building, barely rushing across the splitting ice bridge in time.

If you watched in the distance, you could see the glistening pink castle swallowed up into a smoky white fog, while blocks of ice that once made up its gleaming gleams were tumbling over one another, sliding off the mountain peak, into the crevice below. If there shrieks of anguish, or cries of fear, or even shots to mark a tribute's death, it was hidden beneath the roar of the splitting crystalline structures rolling off the cliff.

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter – Off Summit<strong>

"Aren't you gon'na kill him?"

Dagur glanced at the unconscious redheaded tribute lying against the snow, then shrugged, "Nah. I want my victims to scream, so I'll just wait till he wakes up."

"Considering how wounded he is, I don't think he's waking up," Shen pointed out. It would seem that the white-haired boy was perfectly fine but for the tight breaths he sucked in every now and then. His resistance to pain was unnervingly inhumane - he stood himself perfectly upright as if there wasn't a bolt stuck in his ribs. He had explained that he would only remove it camp, and there had been no more questions since then.

The two girl Careers came trudging back up to their impromptu rendezvous point. Besides a scar near her neck and some scraps along her cheek, Gothel had sustained no injuries. However, she complained constantly that both had ruin her face for life. Astrid had only a bruise at side of her head and a sore back, but somehow she carried with her a sullen air.

"So, any sign of her?" Dagur asked immediately, his usually busy hands strangely empty. He had lost his favorite sword in the castle crash, and he was generally still irritable about it.

Gothel raised a brow at his promptness, but simply questioned in return, "Heather, or the Ice Witch?"

"Ice Witch, duh. I don't care about Heather."

"Heather's dead," Astrid announced flatly, slopping her exhausted self down onto the snow.

The three remaining Careers shifted their eyes towards her.

The blonde girl elaborated hoarsely, "When the castle started cracking up, I saw the platform of the balcony go down into the pit first. Heather never stood a chance." Her red fingers were wrapped firmly around the hilt of her axe, but her arms were trembling – whether from cold, or anger, or anything, the others couldn't tell.

Dagur hardly meditated on this for a second before he moved on, "Whatever. The Ice witch?"

"There's a lot of snow and ice debris just lying around," Gothel began, "the witch and the other boy could be buried-"

She was cut off when the blonde went for the scarred boy. Dropping her axe, she lifted him by the collar. Her blue eyes glowing with fury, she screamed at him, "Your District-mate just died, and all you say is _'Whatever'_?"

"It's not as if she and I were all buddies," Dagur retorted, yet he turned pale in the face of Astrid's angry one. "She's not even in _your_ district-"

The girl shook him a few times, screaming, "Is this just some kind of _joke_ to you?"

"Now, now, Astrid," Gothel put in soothingly, but she was ignored.

"People," the blonde was so short of breath that she had to force herself to take one before she continued her rant, "people like you are dying around you, and you don't care a _smidge_?"

"Erm, excuse me? This place's _all_ about dying! Where have you been?"

"You despicable- "she made a string of curses so colorful, that the Gamemakers eventually chose to censor it from the screens, "-does _life_ mean nothing to you at all?"

"The only life that matters to me is my own – _no duh_. Heather was dead from the start with _me_ in, anyway. Stop acting as if your hands are so clean, Little Miss I'm-So-Perfect!" He even said it in a high-pitched voice, riling up her anger futher.

Gothel tried to interrupt, "Now, now, this is completely un-"

"This isn't about faults - this is about honour, and respect!"

"Honour! Respect! Is _anyone_ listening to this" – he heaped a whole bunch of expletives over her head, earning darker and darker glares. "Why bother - why should I – this doesn't even matter enough to warrant respect! _We_ don't matter! Life is pointless and stupid!"

"Well you"- she launched a tirade of vulgarities his way - "should seriously consider " - and another.

"Do you even understand-"

"No, _you_ don't understand-"

"Crap, you're breaking, aren't you? You're getting soft! And all that 'I'm-so-tough' girl stuff-"

"I am _not_ getting soft-"

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"And now you're just behaving like children," Gothel interjected matter-of-factly, as they both stopped to breathe for a second.

"But aren't we _children_?" Astrid spun to her, her voice still raised. "Aren't we supposed to act like children? Be _immature_? And _angry_? And _stupid_? Not…not all _this_." She gestured vaguely around them. Through blurred tears, she glared at heraxe, its blade gleaming against the shining snow.

The lull that fell on them was terse and uncomfortable, as the blonde's words echoed against the endless whiteness that surrounded them.

Shen broke it first. "I'd appreciate if we headed to camp now. We only waste time here."

Silently, the rest conceded, as they reluctantly returned to their feet. The white-haired boy glanced at the comatose red-headed boy in the bloodied black jacket. "So what about him?"

"I'm not killing someone who doesn't react when I kill him," Dagur answered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He immediately spun around and headed downwards.

"I'm in no condition to do so," Shen put in mildly, gestured at his own wound, before he joined the other boy.

Gothel and Astrid were left staring at the redheaded boy from District 12. Sighing, Gothel cocked her to aside. "Well, I'd hate to slit such a handsome neck."

"Neck?" Astrid inquired with much skepticism.

"It fits very well with his nice jaw-line," Gothel had managed to explain, without really explaining at all. "Ah, well. He's yours then."

Spinning around, the District 1 girl gave her black curls a toss, preparing to trek down before she halted at her steps. "Astrid."

"Yes?" The girl answered, as she retrieved her fallen axe.

Gothel turned her towards her, an odd expression crossing her face. "Have you noted that both you and Heather are named after flowers?"

"No." Astrid narrowed her brows at the taller girl. "Why?"

The black-haired girl seemed to ponder this a while. "Oh, it's just that flowers are supposed to be so…_fragile_." She tossed her curls back, giving a flippant giggle. "But never mind that, dearie."

Astrid's brow only furrowed more deeply.

"Anyhow, if you're feeling poorly about Heather's death, don't be. It was inevitable from the very start."

That threw Astrid off. "It was?"

"Oh, yes." Gothel nodded, a pitiful smile playing on the corner of her lips. "The minute _you_ allowed this poor, but cute tribute," her eyes darted to the unconscious boy lying on the snow, "into our pack, we were bound to run into trouble, and of course, _betrayal_. And if the boy didn't have the crossbow…"Gothel trailed off deliberately, before ending in a patronising tone, "but don't worry yourself, dearie. After all, Heather's end had long been pre-determined by _your_ decisions."

With that said, the black-haired girl tucked her hands into her coat pockets, humming as she began her descent.

If Astrid had felt upset at first, she felt indefinitely tattered at the end of Gothel's little speech. Her fingers wrapped around her axe, she stood over Hans' dying body. The wound in his side was bad, but its redness had reduced to a dull brown by now, and perhaps the cold slowed the blood flow a little. Her blade hovered above his corpse-like self, finding its way over his neck. She could end him quick and easy.

But right now, she couldn't, and she didn't want to.

She lowered her blade, casting the pale boy one final glance before making her way through the ever-piling snow. Even a fresh new sheet of it decided to rain down now, carrying freezing winds with it.

If the bleeding didn't kill the boy first, then the cold would; and if the cold wouldn't, eventually infection would. She didn't care if she needed to face her fellow Career's faces later when they demanded why they didn't hear the cannon shot. She didn't feel like killing anyone today.

Right now, all she could do was listen to howling gales, allowing herself to pour her torment into it.

* * *

><p><strong>SN: **

**The Ice battle is based off the one in Frozen, except the castle collapses in my version, and in the movie, we don't know what happens to the castle. And maybe you'd understand why Hans has to carry a crossbow at this point. **

**Shen's parting speech is a direct quote from KFP2, and it's one of my favorite quotes, because it's seriously menacing. And he manages to kill someone off permanently after it.**

**This started off very hard to write, but end turned out rather smooth, especially Gothel and Astrid's exchange. Sorry that this chapter is rather short, but I thought that here would be a good place to end it. **

**BTW, I think you guys might notice that my spelling seems to be a mix of American and British English, because I'm used to both. I apologize if this annoys y'all, but it really comes naturally to mean.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Well, Happy New Year folks! Hope you're enjoying it more than me, because I'm not enjoying it much. This was a quick update, because I was bored, and because I refused to do homework on New Years' Eve. TV is really bad right now, so …here I am. **

**Thank you people have been following this story! It hit 51 followers yesterday! Huzzah!  
>Sorry for spazzing on this kind of thing, but yeah this is the longest fic I've ever written, so this naturally the only one with 100<strong>**th**** plus review. **

**OH wait, forgot to celebrate. 100 plus review! Yay! Thanks guys! **

**100****th**** review place goes to – QueenElsaofArendelle1934 ! I don't have a prize, but here's a virtual CAKE! (yeah, it's dumb, but it might be FOOD FOR IMAGINATION. Okay. Couldn't resist.)**

**Mailbox: **

**A way to uncreative girl: Haha, I say this a lot, but thanks again! I noticed you've about to 146 fave stories, and to be consider 'probably the best' is truly an honor. **

**QueenElsaofArendelle1934: Thanks! I certainly will.**

**Awsomaniatica: Her logic of building a castle (maybe I'll write that in when I get round editing this) is to challenge the Careers, but she didn't expect all the Careers to turn up, or the explosions either. Punzie (and her abilities) is an enigma to everyone, even to herself, and this is going to have complications ( out of all the most un-THG-ish things I do, hers perhaps is the most. And Elsa has ice-powers…). Hiccup and Punzie make sense as a team, if they could get past the trust issues..., or even meet up. Hiro, getting rescued? The guy should suffer more honestly.**

**SmilingStarcat: In my head, I kind of picture that after her revelation moment in chapter 15 she'd undergo this 'let it go' phase – and tada! The castle appeared! Another reason in above reply. i.e. building castle is a basic survival instinct. Seriously. Um, team J.E. just got crushed by a chandelier, so…skating away on ice didn't happen. Ralph and Van are lovely folk, but why Gothel? She's just mean, and condescending, and absolutely awesomely creepy! Okay, yeah. Thanks for the wishes.**

**ElvisRules41: Actually, I'm not that sure what you did. I mean, I do sort get it, but why's Anna in the mob? Wait. What? Kidding, I understood perfectly. I love the exploding aerosol so much – I'm asking myself why did I use it so early.**

**Thanks for Reviewing, and Happy New Year!**

**Review. Critique. Ask Question.**


	20. Chapter 19: Allies, Not-Allies and Alone

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 19: Allies, not-Allies, and Alone

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Quarter <strong>

It was dark.

It was cold.

And he was scared.

And then, he remembered that he had a lighter.

Feeling about the hoodie, he managed to find it, and fiddled the switch. The device eventually burst into flame, and the blackness shrouded away, to reveal a cavern of ice around him, dozens of icy stalactites hanging above him.

Coughing, he brushed the snow off himself. He felt bruises all over his back and shoulders, but fortunately nothing seemed to be broken. His neck felt really sore for some reason, though.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the orange yellow flame, he slowly rose to his feet. He still felt a bit dizzy, but he couldn't really remember why. In a matter of fact, he couldn't really remember why he was here. The last thing he could recall was watching as the icy chandelier came crashing over their heads.

His eyes narrowed. _Their_?

Holy, _Elsa!_

He spun on his heel, hurried looking at the heaps of snow around him. There was nothing in sight at the moment, but with all the snow debris lying around, it was extremely possible that she was buried somewhere in there.

One hand gripping on the lighter, he used the other to dig. Pilfering through the snow, he found his fishing rod, only that it had been snapped in half. Since it had lost its use, he lit the fires over it, allowing it to catch fire. Dropping the glowing stick on the ground, he went back to digging. The next thing he unearthed were his useless skates, which had their ends blunted but were still in good condition. He dropped those by his feet, before he resumed his digging.

It felt like ages before he managed to hit anything solid that wasn't frozen H2O, and he was overjoyed when he found a hand – a cold hand, albeit, but a hand nonetheless. Working furiously and even using his feet when his arms got tired, eventually he eventually pulled the girl out of the snow. Her loose was splayed about the snow, and her eyes were closed.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered to himself, when he saw her limp form. She couldn't die, right? Her powers were all ice and snow and stuff, so it'd be ridiculous if she died from cold. She could probably die from suffocation though, so his fingers immediately went to her wrist. To his relief, he could feel the faint thumping, though it was rather muffled.

"Hey." He shook her gently, just in case she had fractured some essential rib or joint that he didn't know about. "Wake up."

She stirred uneasily, heaving a deep breath as she did. She tried to sit herself up, and Jack took her arms to guide her there. Glancing around, she wheezed, "Where am I? Wha-what happened?"

"Where? Some creepy ice cave, somewhere under the mountain, I think. What? I think you saved us both. Oh, and your ice castle has been smashed to smithereens." He jerked his head toward the rubbles. Gleaming pillars of ice and the shattered glass-like fragments at their feet proved his statement true.

Possibly she was still giddy from the whole ordeal, because she was still clutching onto his shoulder. Her grip was strong, and very cold, but considering everything was just plain freezing already, Jack didn't really feel a difference.

Seeing how she gazed sadly at the debris strewn all around, he added, "Sorry 'bout that. It was a really nice castle."

With his help, she gradually got to her feet. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't going to last anyway."

At that moment, the ex-fishing-rod-turned-kindling shriveled up, and they were swallowed by darkness again.

As Jack fumbled about his coat pocket for the lighter again, he suddenly found himself immersed in a pale blue light. Gazing around him, he watched in amazement as Elsa waved her hands carefully at the ice caves a few more times, making the glow in walls of ice around them stronger. He leaned over towards the ice pieces, full of incredulity and astonishment to see the blue behind the glassy surface dim, then light up, over and over, the way a flame would.

A smile stretched across his face as he peered all around him in wonder. "_This. Is. So. Cool_!"

"You-you like it?"

He turned to the girl. She still kept a sure distance between them, yet she didn't seem particularly afraid of him. If anything, she seemed afraid of making him afraid, which was weird.

His grin widened. "You kiddin'? _This_"- he waved at the cavern lights excitedly – "this is _awesome_."

"Oh. Well," she answered rather stiffly, scooping her blonde hair back nervously. She cleared her throat, before saying, "Thank you."

There was a brief silence as both of them stood around, just staring at the magnificent sight around them. Then, suddenly the ground shook, and snow dust fell over their heads. Cracks crept up the sides of walls, over and below. Both of them instinctively grabbed onto each other to steady themselves, their eyes frantically flitting around their crumbling surroundings. Jack was cursing, while Elsa only muttered prayers.

Fortunately, the tremors died. The blue glow of the cave, which had faded when the cave first shook, returned to its initial brightness. Both teens released the breaths that they hadn't realized they were holding. Cautiously glancing downwards, theirs eyes anxiously traced the numerous lines that now ribbed into the ice around them.

"Y-you think you can freeze it up again?" Jack whispered, afraid that any sound might result in who knows millions tones of snow.

The girl raised a tentative hand at the wall, but another tremor caused her to misfire, so the blast sent a row of spikes shooting out of the wall instead. Jack just managed to jump out of the way before a little icicle impaled his nose.

He added, "Um, I meant, without killing us all at once?"

She shot him a hard glare, folding her arms. "Well, my _sincerest apologies_. I haven't exactly used my powers since yesterday. I truly regret lacking the practice."

"You're kidding." She glowered at him again, as the icicles that she made became involuntarily became a bit longer. "Okay. You're not kidding."

After another frown, she went got to business. "We need to get out of here before crashes on our heads."

"Okay. Can you just melt the ice around us?"

She scowled at him again. Somehow she seemed rather irritated with him, but at least she hadn't suggested leaving him behind to die. "Haven't you heard what I said just now? Besides, I only freeze. I don't – unfreeze. I don't know how."

"Wait." There was a faint rumble beneath their feet. "How can you not know how to reverse the effects? That makes no sense."

"Easy for you to say! You're not the one who's been cursed with ice powers!"

The cave might have reacted to Elsa' outburst, because another tremor struck, nearly knocking them both off their feet. Steading themselves against each other once more, gasping in anxiety, Jack was the first to speak, "Okay, okay. We get out of this cave first, then we work out your problem."

"Right." Elsa conceded, though she still gave him another dark look at the word 'problem'.

Under her steely gaze, Jack had a difficult time trying to focus on thinking. Half of him couldn't help admiring how the divine radiance she possessed was under the reflection of the blue lights, whilst the other half was freaking that she might decide to heck the rules and skewer him by icicles anyway.

Behind them was a dead end, since that was where all the castle ruins were. But in front of them, from what he could make out from the blue light seemed to a tunnel of sorts. Where it led, well, they could only hope was a better place than here. However, he noted that even the ice of the cave floor was splintering up. Walking was going to be too slow, and the weight of their feet might very well collapse their only escape route further if the ground below happened to be hollow.

The only beneficial about staring at the breaking floor was that it led him to staring down at his feet, and at his feet, he saw exactly what they needed.

"You make stuff with your ice, right?" He asked her out of the blue.

She made her confusion clear. "Like what stuff?"

Leaning over, but warily so that he didn't accidentally crack the ground below them, he picked up the pair of strap-on skates. "Like these."

She raised a brow at the skates, then nodded, but her head still tilted in askance.

"Good, strap on," he instructed her, ignoring the questioning look bending down slowly as he fitted the skates over his feet. There hadn't been any more tremors since the last two, but he didn't want to risk setting off another.

She was still bemused, but nonetheless she took action. With a flick of her wrist, swirls of snow descended to her feet, wrapping around the boots, until they became a firm pair of steady skates.

"Okay, now that's _really_ cool," Jack confessed, his eyes widening with amazement.

"Yours don't look to good," she commented after comparing both their footwear. It was true, especially since his skating blades were blunted, and also because her skates looked _fantastic._

He shrugged. "It'll last. So," he grinned at her, "ready to have some fun?"

"_Fun_?" She scoffed, staring disbelievingly at his enthused countenance. "We're facing our impending deaths."

A 'thud' was heard above their heads, and more snow dust showered down. Much to Jack's alarm, he observed that fissures in the walls widening indefinitely.

"_Time to go!"_ He grabbed her hand and started roving across the uneven ice ground, or whatever was left of it.

"Wha- where are we going? And I don't even know how to skate! "

It couldn't be told if Elsa's yell or the scraping of metal against the ice had caused further splitting in the cavern ceiling, but honestly that question wasn't on their mind when a new shower of frost came upon them. Behind them, they could hear ice crashing down, as the weight of the castle ruins started closing down on the tunnel.

"Just kept your feet planted on the ice! I'll handle the rest!" He had to shout to her, because the boom of the tumbling ice blocks was clogging up their ears.

It had felt like ages since he had last skated – oh, wait, it had been ages since he skated. The last time was really last winter, and he had to miss an enjoyable years of whipping around the frozen lake for hours, with Emma hot on his heels after he had dumped snow down her coat. And why?

Hunger Games. Oh, right.

Ignoring the obviously painful past, he focused on the present. With the wind biting his face, ripping through his brown hair, Jack could feel his heart accelerating was to the record-highs. The atmosphere was definitely terrifying, since they were in a collapsing tunnel with falling frozen stalactites, after all - but at the same time, it was _exhilarating_. Zipping past walls of white like a bullet train, he couldn't help the grin that formed on his face, nor the gleaming of his eyes as their speed increased substantially upon sliding across polished ice.

On the other hand, Elsa wasn't enjoying herself, considering how often she would glance back and give him commentary on the distance between them and getting minced. He noticed that the blue glow of the cave still followed them, but it was flickering erratically, strangely in sync with her twitching.

"Oh, won't you relax?" He yelled to the girl behind him. Her grip around his arm was very tight and very cold. He could bet on his life that by the time they got out, he'd have massive frostbite.

Suddenly, an icicle appeared along the path, and he had to make a quick swerve to avoid it. As they got further and further down, the appearance of readily growing icicles became more and more frequent.

"Are you doing this?" He called out to her, just as they wove between the zillions of ice spikes that just appeared on the ground.

Her answered was slightly muffled, since they were travelling very fast, or maybe, it was because she sounded ashamed. "Sorry."

Before them, a large pillar of ice shot up through the roof this time, blocking their escape route, save to a narrow hole on its side.

The grin faded into a grimace as he dragged the blonde girl closer to himself. One arm grabbed her waist, whilst the other he held forward. _"Hang on!"_

She only nodded, hooking her own arm around his shoulder. If she wanted to protest about their close proximity of, she kept to herself.

Just as they approach the ice pillar, Jack clenched his teeth in anticipation. He bent both of them lower, allowing them to pick up even more speed. He prayed that the pillar didn't grow any spikes – that would just be nasty, and probably ruin what he was about to do.

When they were scarcely five feet from the pillar, he jerked them sharply to the right, such that they climbed the sides of the cave, with only their speed sticking them to walls. He was sure he heard Elsa scream as they went completely vertical, ducking their heads as they swept past the pillar. She was still screaming went they were horizontal again, but Jack threw his head back with energetic chortle.

"We almost died!" She snapped at him, though she gripped more tightly on the boy.

"I know!" He answered between wild cackles. "But we _didn't_!"

He was continued laughing and whooping the rest of the way, even as they whipped around, over and under the array of spikes protruding the tunnel walls, giving whoops and crows at every sharp turn. Feeling how tense his companion was, he yelled, "You need to stop taking everything seriously. Have some fun!"

She didn't give an outright refusal this time, and he felt her grip around him loosen. He noted that she was trying to copy his footwork, sliding one foot in front of another, or turning on the heel when necessary.

"You almost got it!" He gave her an encouraging hoot at her, as they looped around another set of ice spikes.

She became more confident after a while, gradually letting go of him as she stared intently downwards, until both of them were only holding hands, but this time skating abreast. A small smile appeared on her lips when they glided up another curve. Somehow, the broader her smile, the fewer the icicles, and their paths became smoother. Instead, Jack could only gaze in astonishment as the cavern walls lit up with a strong steady blue and the cracks in the walls began disappearing.

Most of all, he was amazed at how the transformed she suddenly seemed. Her usually pale cheeks were flushed red, and green eyes shining like stars. She didn't look like a queen, cold and reserved. She didn't look like a goddess, lofty and above. She looked like a wild, unkempt teenager, letting loose and having fun.

And she'd never looked better.

Five seconds later, reality came crashing down on them as the cavern started widening up. Far in the distance, Jack noted as they were running out of road with a large crevice appearing in before them. The quick glance at the side walls told him that they were too rough and steep for them to skate in a curve like before.

"Elsa!" She looked up, the radiance vanishing with her smile. "Can you patch that?"

She followed his line of sight to the looming hole before them, her hesitance returning. "I-I've never done it on the go before. Never this fast."

"Well, you're gon'na have to try," he told her, as they approached the uninviting gap.

He could see that she was muttering something under her breath – some kind of mantra. She let go of his arm at the point, and he noted that she was nervously rolling up her sleeves.

When they were almost on the edge of the pit, Jack had almost discarded hope and begun giving mental farewells to his sister and mother. However, Elsa raised her arms forward, her hands glowed bright blue as the icy blast transformed into a sheet of ice, splayed over the hole, allowing them glide right over.

A relieved chuckle left him, before he turned to her. "Not bad!"

She peered back, a smile creeping onto her face. She seemed pretty amazed at herself, he realized.

A violent tremor struck them suddenly, almost flinging them off their skates. Squinting around at the splintering ice around them, then back at the confident demeanor of the girl gliding by his side, he couldn't make sense of it. Then it dawned on him, and he cursed sourly.

"What's wrong?" Elsa demanded anxiously, they zoomed under a curtain of plunging icicles.

"The Gamemakers, they're doing this to us," he hissed to her. "They probably want us to end this quick. Either that, or die trying."

"Seems survival is in order," she replied, her smile curling into a hard determination. She extended her hand to Jack, and though perplexed, he took it without question. With her free hand, she set a layer of frost on the ground the below them. As thumps resounded against the rest of the cavern as the ice walls closed in on each other, she began blasting any ice structures that blocked their way. Swirling mists of white were rolling close behind them, but Elsa simply lifted an arm behind them, shooting a powerful that ice blast that propelled them to breakneck speeds. Jack could feel his heart thudding rapidly. Half of him was immensely afraid, but the other half only knew pure glee.

The blue lights in the ice died away as both of them recognized the white sunlight filtering through the cracks above. Looking forward, both of them couldn't fail to notice the upward curve that marked where they path ended.

"End of the road!" Jack hollered, hoping that she had something in mind. He sincerely prayed that it wasn't a cliff side.

"Just hold on!" She returned, no trace of fear. Both of them linked arms, their finger twined around each other, as they zipped up the ice slope, and the caves behind them crushed into powder and dust.

On the very second that their skates left the ice, Jack felt an unrequited wash of freedom as they flew into the air. They were already pretty high up, considering that they were in the mountain, and leaving the cavern actually gave him a panoramic view of the other quarters. It was almost scenic. Except they were sinking down the next second.

"_Oh, crap!"_ He shrieked as gravity yanked them back, but a cloud of white suddenly appear, and his metal skates struck with the freshly crafted ice. Physics demanded that going down turned into going up once more, as they skidded off the ice platform, flying in the air once more, before being unceremoniously plunged into the snowy ground below them.

There was a moment of absolute quiet, with only wind howling. That is, until Jack stuck his head out of the snow. Sitting up quickly, he scanned for his blonde companion worriedly. Seeing that she was quite alright – calmly digging herself out of the snowdrift, the overwhelming adrenaline made him loose a hoot. "We're alive! Huzzah!"

Awkwardly shoveling himself out of the snow, he got to his feet, kicking up the snow around them as he pranced about.

"We're alive! We're alive!" He sang shamelessly.

Elsa could only shake her head at the madly dancing boy.

* * *

><p><strong>Spring Quarter<strong>

He was pretty disgusted with himself. The sun was shining right down above him, so that meant he had slept the entire morning away.

Admittedly, he had slaved the entire night away in the snow. He could only guess it was around 2 a.m. when he had managed to dig up most of the deactivated mines. The blonde Career, Astrid, had watched him like a hawk, preventing him from setting any of them off early. About half an hour later, two Careers boys, Shen and Dagur, had arrived back to the Cornucopia; both rather torn up in appearance from a recent battle.

They had then bandaged themselves up, before they had made it for the spring quarter again. They had taken turns guarding and transporting goods on both ends, but he had to play donkey throughout – at least, until Astrid had decided that he was taking too long and made him sit and do planning instead. Eventually, everything had be brought to the Career's new headquarters – a pleasant meadow field, beside an unusually large cliff face that hung above, such that it sheltered the supply pile from rain completely. It was nice and warm, compared to the horrid Cornucopia grounds, so Hiro didn't complain, especially since the cold made his leg ache.

That had been until Astrid had shoved her axe in his face and had started him on the defense system. So all the way to dawn, she had sat herself by a tree trunk, 'supervising' as he had dug around supply pile. From a memory chip he had found under one of the tributes plates, he had created a mother controller and had linked all the mines to it. Astrid had forced him to teach her to use it, and he had reluctantly showed her how to pressing the red button made all the mines go active, and pressing the blue made them deactivate, so that the Careers could go in and get things from the heap when they wanted to. When they had seen the signal smoke coming from the Winter Quarter, she had taken the controller with her before heading out with the two injured boys. However, she had been far-sighted to guess that he could probably construct another if left to his own devices, so she had stuck him in the middle of the supply pile before activating all the mines over again.

He scowled as he thought of that part. He had been sure that he would have outwitted her at some point, but Astrid had been far too sharp. She had observed where he buried each of the mines, ordering him to do it again every time she felt the layout was too simple. So he even as he sat on top of the mountain of the assorted food stuffs and weaponry, knowing exactly which route he needed to take to get his butt out of this minefield, he couldn't escape.

It came down to two words; injured leg. A trip, a tumble, and he'd be blown sky high.

Astrid had foreseen this, and he hated that fact. He hated smart Careers. The Career girl that Tadashi had allied with had been pretty smart too – she had known how to twist his emotions and his compassion to her advantage. Astrid was way too smart, though not as much as her district mate.

Hiro began to worry just a little. During the period when Hiccup and himself were still all 'chummy', he had taught the boy perhaps a little too much about robotics. Hopefully, the boy would have discarded it by now, in assumption that such knowledge was absolutely useless in the Arena. But the Hiro couldn't really be sure of that, of course. If he had near eidetic memory himself and he had meshed that well with the District 2 boy, who's to say the other scrawny, bony boy didn't have the same talent?

As he carefully shifted himself from in his uncomfortable spot onto of a folded camping tent, his hands went into his hoodie pockets, where the sealed metal tube tucked in. He had managed to obtain it after much secret sneaking, but the other item that he had sought for was still not found, and more sneaking confirmed it wasn't here anymore.

"Stupid. Useless. Brain," he growled at himself, even picking up a tin canteen to hit his head with. It didn't help at all. He tried desperately to remember how the Bloodbath went, hazarding a couple guesses who took it, but most of what he could recall was just that the ice just messed up everything.

And that Honey died.

He could his lip trembling, and he bit it in angry retaliation. This was why he had been avoiding thinking about the Bloodbath till now. Lots of things that _weren't_ supposed to happen just _had_ to happen. It was supposed to be _twelve_, not _five_. It was supposed to a quick, albeit bloody, fight but it ended up as chaos and mayhem. And Honey? She was supposed to by his side, putting their brains together as they cracked yet another puzzle together, making their way through this maze of an Arena and complete their tasks.

Amidst his brooding, he found himself looking at a pair of large green eyes, and he shrunk back, letting out a high-pitched squeal.

"Shh!" The owner of the eyes hissed at him. From the visage of worry she wore, he could tell that this she hadn't expected him to be here anymore than he had expected to see a girl hanging off her own very, very long blonde hair her face inches from his own.

Glancing up, he noted that she had probably tied her hair around a tree trunk on tip of the cliff above them, before agilely scaling herself down towards the pyramid of goodies. If he wasn't on an extremely unstable seat, or he wasn't injured, he would dance with joy, because there it was! A huge, gigantic _loophole_ to his impenetrable defense system! He could kiss the long-haired blonde right there and then, but he supposed she wouldn't have appreciated it.

The girl was perceptibly the one from District 8 – Rapunzel, he oddly recalled her name –and she seemed relieved to find that the number on his sleeve read something other than 1, 2 or 4. Still, the arms that she used to steady herself on the loop of her hair her foot rested on were shaking, and he noticed that her stomach muscles had tensed up as she examined him. The bandage on around his leg allowed her to relax slightly, but he couldn't shy away from the hard look in her emerald eyes.

He decided to play nice, "Hey."

The girl, Rapunzel, considered, before returning his greeting, "Um, hi."

"So, are you looking for anything in particular?" He asked conversationally, as if he was a stall-owner helping an undecided customer.

"Um," Rapunzel seemed partially disturbed by how comfortably he acted around her, but she eventually took him up. "I'm need so bandages, and" –she cocked her head to one side as she thought – "disinfectant, definitely some disinfectant. For my forehead."

Hiro stared at the said place, before commenting quizzically, "There's nothing wrong with your forehead."

"What? The guy from District 4 hit me…" She trailed off as she lifted a hand to her forehead, feeling around the skin, surprised that there was nothing there but smooth, though sweaty, skin. She murmured, "I could have sworn that I had an abrasion."

"Anything else you'd like? I'd hurry if I were you," he told her, glancing away occasionally to opening at near the forest. Astrid had told him keep guard of the food pile, telling him to warn the occasional tribute that stumbled across the place of the imminent deaths that awaited cross the minefield. But Rapunzel here had managed to bypass all that, just by using her hair. Still, if he was caught now, Astrid would have his head. "The Careers could be back at any second."

"Okay." Rapunzel's voice increased in urgency. "I need, um, a water bottle – a full one; some food; a-a knife. And socks! I definitely need more socks. Gloves, if you can too."

Having survived four hours on this pile and searched it several times, Hiro found everything within a minute. Just as she leaned out to take them though, he drew back, just out of arm's reach.

To her surprised, yet wary expression, he said, "I wanna make a deal."

The girl took a shorter time to deliberate now. "What terms?"

"I'll give you the stuff you need, if you bring me with you."

Rapunzel seemed taken aback. "Bring you? With me?"

"Just up," he clarified, pointing to the cliff face above them. "That's all I ask."

She pursued her lips, and he could see the conflict within herself as she thought this through. Hiro took the instant to examine their surroundings again.

"All right," she replied finally, "but no sharp objects on you. No knives, no swords, nothing. Except the one that's for me."

Hiro was unwilling to go without a weapon; who knew when he made need to cut up an unfriendly face? Not that he really wanted to. Still, if he was ever going to leave the Careers, it had to be now.

When he nodded, she broke into the strands of the loop she was standing on, forming two new loops. As she adjusted herself on one, she handed the other to Hiro, who unsteadily hopped onto it with his good foot. It took some time for him to balance on it with one hand only, since he was still helping her carry her loot with the other hand. When he was ready, Rapunzel hoisted them up by yanking onto the free-flowing river of hair. She was either very strong, or she understood pulley concepts well, because every yank shot them several feet up, away from the shrinking piles of food. Hiro couldn't help but be astounded at how free it felt to be flying up the hair-made elevator, side by side with the blonde girl.

They eventually reached the top of the cliff, and Rapunzel removed her hair from the tree she had tied it to, before hauling the rest of her hair back up. He had never really realized how long it was, since she had always braid it up, but seriously, how could her neck bear that weight? And it was really light and smooth too. He couldn't wondering what type of conditioner she'd use.

He heard her clear her throat, and spun her direction.

"My things," she demanded, though a catch in her throat revealed her to be more nervous than threatening.

He was more than willing to oblige her, since he didn't need any of the stuff - not with the metal tube tucked safely in his hoodie pocket. She slipped the items into her sling bag, before gathering up her hair in her arms again. After she did, there was a tense silence as they both stared at each other, wondering what they should do.

Hiro knew he was in no condition for fights now, so he did what any sensible small kid would do. "Wanna be allies?"

The blonde girl's reaction was odd. It wasn't a mocking laugh, nor was it a blatant 'no'. It was just a quiet decline. "I don't think I want any allies - for now at least." Grabbing her elbow, she added, perhaps thinking that he needed to know why, "My ally just died yesterday."

He blinked in surprise, but he just said, "Oh." The face of his own blonde friend flashed past his eyes. "Sorry about that," he supplemented with more sympathy.

His fingers touched his armband as he briefly debated with himself. She didn't seem particularly hostile towards him. _Distrusting?_ Absolutely. _But aggressive?_ No. She didn't want to be here anymore than he did.

But honestly, who did? _'Only Five,'_ he reminded himself. And maybe less than that, since there was a band missing from the arena now. If he gave her this now, maybe someone else more deserving would come along later, and then he'll really get in trouble. He really hated this stuff.

But then, Honey liked Rapunzel. _Had_ liked Rapunzel.

Taking in his armband off, he twisted it, snapping off a new piece. "Wear this," he told her as he handed it to her, "Find others wearing this. They'll work with you, when you're ready."

She seemed rather puzzled, but she slid the thin band up her right arm all the same.

"Um, on the left." He demonstrated with his own band.

Still mystified, she changed the band over to her other arm.

Angry voices from below the cliff made them realize that the Careers have returned. Familiar, high-pitched swearing told Hiro distinctly that his escape had been discovered, and that the blonde Career would be hunting him down the minute she could.

"We'd best go now," he told the other girl.

She nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulders before grabbing her bundle of hair, speeding all the way back into the forest. Hiro watched as she went her way, before hobbling himself towards the woods. As he uneasily stumbled through the damp grass, he sincerely hoped that his sponsor was as rich as Gogo had claimed he was, because right now, he really needed something to fix his leg.

As if fate had read his mind, Hiro heard a pinging sound coming from a nearby shrub, and was near tears with joy with he found it was a little parachute. It definitely wasn't for Rapunzel, since she would have just raced off without acknowledging it. On the other, a limping young boy would be slow enough to notice it.

When he opened the metal container attached to parachute, his guesses were confirmed.

The note inside read simply; WOMAN UP, WIMP – G.

He rolled his eyes before he searched the rest of the can. All he found was a small tube of clear liquid, and he had a good guess on what it was.

Happily, he sat himself down at a tree, unscrewing the tube cap at the same time. Gingerly, he straightened his injured leg, before removing his carefully-wrapped bandages. Gagging slightly at the sight of the gnash that decorated his calf, he squeezed a little of the liquid onto his pinky tip, before dabbing it gently onto the wound. The medicine hopefully did the trick, because he began feeling pricks of heat around his skin. He began adding the cream more generously, though the pragmatic part of him didn't want to use up all of this cool medicine.

He lay back on the trunk, sticking his leg out to airing the wound. It was a bad idea to be resting out here in open daylight, but Hiro decided to do it anyway. The Careers were unlikely to scale the cliff to look for him, and so far there hadn't been any big, terrible monsters sighted in the spring quarter. Once the leg healed, he would go.

Without meaning to, Hiro fell back into deep slumber, with the spring birds chirping cheerily.

* * *

><p><strong>Summer Quarter<strong>

Hiccup had been for the most of the day understandably anxious, so when he fell to the ground, kissing it and thanking the Gods (he didn't actually know what that meant, but he understood it was an expression of gratefulness), one had to sympathize with him. You see, after spending an hour of reading the book he had found in the red-but-no-longer-red bag, he had been running from an inexplicably scary tree that spat acid at him.

Yes, _a tree that spat acid_. It didn't make much sense to himself either.

He had spent a good part of his day dodging mysterious acid-attacks and fires around the forest. He wondered if the Gamemakers were sending him a message – maybe to tell him stop running towards the border of the Arena and go back to where all the other tributes were so that he could put up a nice, bloody fight with his peers, a.k.a. let himself get beaten into a bloody pulp.

Well, not happening.

So the weirder attacks he got, the further he ran into the Summer Quarter. He only ceased fleeing, because he had reached the end. Literally. He was currently sitting on the cliff edge that marked the end of the Summer Quarter.

Well, the edge itself wasn't the end of the Summer Quarter. Beyond it, he could see miles and miles of sea stretch before him, only interrupted by occasional blocks of sandstone sticking out. Far in the distance though, he could make out an island of sorts, looking like a single mountain sticking out of the blue waters.

A strange longing suddenly pierced him, and he felt this curious desire to go all the way there and discover what it was. But unless he wanted to swim till mile's end, or wait till the Gamemakers sent a killer whale to gobble him up (well, killer whales need toothpicks too, don't they?) , the furthest place he was going was to the cliff edge.

While he failed in a lot of battle-based things, his survival skills were generally fine. He had managed to set up a few snares that didn't call explode in his face when he released it, so he had caught and skinned a passing squirrel earlier on. He had found a narrow creek, which was close to drying up, and had attained some water in the wooden water bottle he had made for himself. Though for unexplainable reasons, all his clothes became soaked up in the process.

So now, after dropping his catapult and his bag aside, he gathered some kindling wood and began stoking himself a fire. Most of his garments were already dry by now, but he wanted to be completely clear of damp before darkness fell, because the nights in the summer quarter were pretty cold anyway.

The fire caught on quickly. He drove a wooden stake into what-used-to-be a squirrel, and then skewered it over the flame. He didn't even bother hiding the firelight. He was very certain that he was quite alone where he was. Who else would be as crazy to hike through the thick tangled of branches and rugged dirt and stone? Moving through rocky terrain was not that foreign to himself, since he had worked in the stone quarries in District 2 enough to know how where and where not to place his foot.

Feeling bored after tinkering with his catapult for a moment or two, he dug up the book again. It was an interesting read at first, but eventually he couldn't be bothered to finish the rest. The book – named aptly 'The Muttations Manual' – simply listed almost every muttation that ever existed in the Games, and perhaps the rest of the world. He had found some of the more standard ones, like tracker-jackers and wolf-muttations, then he found weird ones, like man-eating black horses and gigantic black bears. As the longer he browsed through the book, the less he read, dismissing this or that muttation as being extinct or no longer in use, according to what he had watch in Games re-runs. Very soon he found that he had nothing left to read, and the squirrel meat was still raw.

An idea struck him, and he took up a wooden stick, stabbing it into the flame. Removing it, he blew out the flame quickly. Spreading the book before him, he found an empty space at the bottom of the page. Brushing back his auburn bangs, pressed the charred end to the page, he began to sketch what started out as a leaf, and ended up being a boat. Huffing in dissatisfaction, he flipped through the book, finding another blank border along the description of some wolf-creature. Absently biting the end of the stick, he spat out the bits of bark that got into his mouth before he began drawing a face.

His hand must have been drawing on its own, because before he knew it, his cousin Snotlout's face's was in the space, looking exceptionally bad-tempered and stupid. Just for a measure of fun, Hiccup added a mustache on his face, then chicken-pox, then drew a bowel hat on his cousin's head. The result was quite hilarious, and he found himself chuckling quite liberally, especially since there was no way his cousin could get back at him for this one.

Tossing a few more pages, he found more spaces and began drawing people from all over home; Silent Sven, who somehow managed to actually stay silent for that long; Mulch and Bucket, the hilarious but fearsome pair of Peacekeepers who he'd bump into sometime; Mildew, the cantankerous ex-soldier who was always grumbling to no end.

He then started drawing in the rest of his 'playmates' – they never really played with him, even as children, and spent their older days coming up with ways to ridicule him. Ruffnut and Tuffnut, the twins, came out as crazy-looking, but that was okay, since they were crazy – even others kids in the Career Training Academy said so. He drew in Snotlout again, but made exaggerated his nose-size and ears, even drawing silly speech-bubbles saying 'With my face!' It wasn't as if his cousin could get back at him, anyway. He then added in Fishlegs, drawing his childhood friend with his nose buried in a book, his eyes glancing around nervously.

In amidst the doodling, he wasn't sure how far he long he had been at it before he finally realized that he drawn a full length portrait of Astrid, except that the picture was neither derisive or funny. He had drawn her as he had seen her once after a long run during Training, her blonde plait whipping back in the wind, her blue eyes glowing as she smirked jubilantly at the pathetic losers who were still panting to the finish line - himself part of that company.

Even in the crudely drafted version of herself on the page, she was beautiful. Damn.

Biting his lip, he quickly flipped the page, praying that the cameras hadn't been in him at that moment. They couldn't know what he thought, or felt, towards his District mate. He didn't want it to turn into some sick new gossip for Capitol citizens to chatter over, the way they probably did for that poor guy in District 12. They were already taking away his life and his future. There was no way they were taking _this_ from him, even if it was a sad little dream by a pathetic wimp of a teenager.

His hand took off on its own again, and when he was paying attention, he realized that another picture had appeared on the page, but this time of a different blonde. It was a scene that he had about four days ago, during the training sessions. The girl had been watching at the trainer with fascination as he demonstrated how to use the various condiments to make paints for camouflaging. She was holding up her glasses, her bony form arched forward, her blonde hair falling around as she took a closer look at the bowls. At that moment, she just happened to glance up, meeting his eyes.

It was a harmless memory, compared to the other one he couldn't scratch out his mind.

Hiccup chucked book aside, almost angrily. The squirrel was close to being burnt up by now, and he had to wave the skewer to put out the flames. Half-heartedly, he bit into the burnt flesh, watching the violet pour into the crimson sky, his free hand twirling absently with the band he wore around his arm.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**Hope you guys enjoyed this long chapter (probably won't happen again. I think.)**

**I've only ice-skated once in my life (in a tiny rink), so I'm sorry if the ice-skate scene was unrealistic to you. That was like the fun sequence, and it's a bit like the parallel with the Snow Day sequence in ROTG. (I was listening to the ROTG soundtrack 08 - Wind Take me Home while writing.) Probably won't happen again, since it's way too happy.**

**Some of the people named in Hiccup POV are characters from **_**Riders of Berk**_** series, so chill if you don't recognize them.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Because I've started school, I'm going to be updating about once in two weeks for now. I promised myself I'd work hard especially hard this year. I'm planning to finish this story (not including sequel) before June so that I can focus on the exams at year's end. Let's see how it goes, eh?**

**I don't if I've asked this question before, but can you guys tell (by my writing, or whatever) who's my favourite character out of the main five?**

**Mailbox:**

**QueenElsaOfArendelle1934: Thanks! I'm glad you've noticed the combining – and as the story goes on, more of it will be seen. Sorry that I can't update as often from now on, but school comes before fanfiction and blah. **

**countrygal15: I guess it's pretty obvious Team J&E are still living, unless their ghosts are good ice skaters. As for Hans, I'm actually in a bit of pickle about him…**

**A way to uncreative girl: Thanks for the virtual stuffing! The great about this imaginary stuff is it's never as fattening as in real life. You always have time on your hands? Man, I envy that.**

**ElvisRules41: LOL, too aerosol and the entire arena can explode in bits. Nah, I think aerosol has played its role, but there would be other forms of fire power (hint. hint.)**

**Guest: I'll try to keep my updates regular as every fortnight – so yeah, not that often. Um, Hiccup was never a Career – he was trained to be, but he got kicked out of school halfway (See Prologue). He also turned down offers to join the Careers (See Chap 7:Making Friends Pt.2), and so he's working alone (See …the entire Arena so far?). As for Hiro, he appears here, but he's not going to show up often because his is a smaller storyline (though his role is essential). Hope that helped.**

**SmilingStarcat: True on all counts of Gothel (and boy, that makes her the toughest villain to write) but really, my favorite of the villains here is actually Shen. (Doesn't mean I won't kill him though...) If that wasn't a frozone escape, I hope the one above is more like it. And … now I'll have to mull over how I'm going to fix my portrayal of Astrid – but until I do, she's not supposed to be sadistic (my sad writing abilities. I'll have to work on it) as much as she just likes fighting (that's why she didn't want to kill Hans or Hiro – no fight). But that aside, why she reacted to Heather's death differently from W. Dingwall's is because 1) Heather was an ally – so in Astrid's brain, 'one of us, the superior Careers' and Dingwall's just 'random faceless guy' to her. 2) She's angry with the fact that Dagur was just nonchalant about it, and also because she also doesn't know how she'd react in a similar situation (hint! hint!). She hasn't changed her mind about killing other tributes – Hans' just lucky for that chapter. Hope that clears up my error. I'm glad this made your New Year a bit nicer and stuff.**

**StarRunner1: From a fellow procrastinator, I think you should do your homework, but yeah ( you can read the first 4 words again). Glad you're enjoying though.**

**Thanks for reading! **

**Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	21. Chapter 20: Warming Up and Serious Burns

The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Chapter 20: Warming Up and Serious Burns

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><p><strong>Winter Quarter<strong>

"Are you sure you won't melt?"

She made an exasperated sigh. "I am _not _made of ice! I _produce_ ice!"

"'Kay, 'kay, keep your hair on."

He dropped the blazing stick onto the pile of kindling. The tinder caught the flame first, and he blew on it gently, guiding the fire to trickle down to the rest of the logs.

"There," he said, a cheery grin appearing his face as he examined his work. "It'll be all nice and warm in no time. I hope you don't mind that."

"I _won't_ melt," Elsa repeated crossly, staring intently at the flame to avoid meet his laughing eyes. She had already admitted to herself that fire-making was not her forte, but did he have to rub it in _all the time_?

"I'm gon'na check on the fishing," he told her, as he rose his feet. "You sure that the rod you made won't stick to the ice? It is made of ice, and the lake surface is made of ice-"

"Yes," she hissed, folding her arms as she hunched forwards, still glaring at the orange-yellow glow.

She heard him laugh again. It was like jingling of bells; infectious and merry, and even it stirred a chortle in her throat. Still, she waited till he had left the cave before she allowed herself to smile.

According to him, he had found camped in this cave yesterday, around the time she had started building ice castle. He was right in describing it as a natural freezer, but that wasn't a concern. For her, at least – the poor boy looked like he was freezing his fingers off.

She had started braiding up her hair again, and when she reached the hair ends, she made herself a crystal band to hold it together, since the other was lost. Her hand then went to the cut on her chin, and she patched up with some frost.

"I can watch you do it over and over, and still not get sick of it." She jerked her head towards the boy at the cave mouth. The girl raised a brow at him, but he made no move to explain further. He lifted up the fishing hooks towards the firelight. "So what would you like for dinner; cod," -he raised a hook -"cod," - he raised on another hook -"_or_" - he produced the last fish, waving it dramatically - "_cod_?"

She deadpanned at him, but it only started him off again, snickering as he sat down. He begun scaling the fishes with the ice knife that she had given him. "Why doesn't this thing give me frostbite?" He asked, squinting the crystal blade whilst he brushed off the scales.

"Well, do you want it to?" She retorted contemptuously, but her heart wasn't really into it. She would never admit it, but his quips amused her more than annoyed her.

They sat in silence by the flickering fire, only interrupted by the sounds of Jack cleaning the fish, before he set them over the flame to cook. After a moment, it was cooked, and Jack removed the wooden skewers from above the flame, handing one of the sticks to Elsa. She accepted it silently, taking small nibbles at each time.

Out of the blue, Jack suddenly burst into a fit of laughter again, earning a disapproving look from the platinum-blonde. She asked impatiently, "What is it?"

"Who builds an _ice palace_ in the middle of the Arena?" He exclaimed, before releasing another guffaw.

"I was trying to meet them on a level playing field," Elsa defended, her brows furrowing with annoyance. Did he have to poke fun at _everything_ she did? "I didn't want them jumping on me out of nowhere."

"Oh, you mean like how I jumped on you back there? Right," He teased, ripping a mouthful of his fish. Thanks to his carelessness, he ended up coughing on the bones, which Elsa felt a smug sense of justice.

"You never stood a chance," she told him with a satisfied smirk, while she permitted herself bite into the fish again. She had to confess that he was a pretty good cook - either that or she was _really_ hungry.

After fitful coughing, he swallowed painfully, before he asking casually, "So, your sister does this too?"

Her head shot up at the reference, a chill running down her spine. "What?"

"You have a sister right?" To that, she gave an uneasy nod. "Well, does she freeze stuff up with her hands too?"

"It isn't just with my hands," Elsa snapped to cover up the shudder that shook her. Quite forcefully, she continued, "Anna's quite ordinary, thank you very much." Only after she had said it did she realize how dismissive it actually sounded.

"Oh, er, okay." Jack seemed a bit embarrassed by his question, so he sought to explain himself. "You mentioned that you were born with the powers, so I thought it might be genetic, or something."

"I don't know how I got these powers, but Anna certainly doesn't have any," she said more firmly. She hoped that as simple as her declaration was, it might keep her sister from being tormented by the prying Capitol press, - or worst, _Peacekeepers_.

Another thought struck her mind - what if Anna was accused of helping her hide her powers? What kind of trouble would that get her in? So quickly, the blonde girl added, "In a matter of fact, Anna doesn't even know I have powers."

"Wow." The brown-haired boy seemed rather astounded at this revelation. She prayed that he would drop it now, but before she could strive to change the subject, the fatal yet innocent-seeming words tumbled out of his mouth. "Why not?"

He was asking a story - _the_ story of _the_ secret. The secret that she buried even deeper than the one about her powers. To her chagrin, she realized that not only was the entire Capitol probably listening in to their conversation, but that a certain fifteen year-old girl from District 12 was too.

She was tempted to just tell him to mind his own business - a perfectly reasonable response to a stranger. But somewhere faraway, Anna must also be yearning for some explanation. What if she thought she wasn't informed because her elder sister didn't trust her? Or hated her? Or resented her? That would be far worst than elaborating her life dramas to some boy she'd just met.

Besides, the gloves were off - she wasn't supposed to hide anymore. Letting it go perhaps meant also letting go of her locked-up feelings. And perhaps that came by confession.

He was still politely waiting for her, seeming rather ill-at-ease, probably realizing his question was again inappropriate.

"When we were very young children, my sister did know about it." She noticed that he had relaxed visibly at her apparent lack of anger towards him. "My parents had told me over and over to keep my powers out of sight - that's why the gloves. But Anna would always beg me to _'do the magic'_. That's what she liked to call it." A warm smile crossed her lips, before a shadow fell over her fair countenance, "One night, when we were playing with the snow, I hurt her with my powers. An ice blast, to the head."

"Oh," he said in a neutral tone as he turned the fish around, but she didn't miss the fleeting startled expression that crossed his face. "What happened?"

"She went into a coma for days. Pa-The doctor," she amended smoothly, "had to do surgery on her brain." The doctor in the time of her childhood had long passed away, so heaping blame on him would be much safer. "According to him, I froze her head. Even after she came to, she lost some of her memories, and," her hands instinctively returned together, and she clasped them together tightly, "she forgot about my powers. Everything about it. My parents thought it best that she didn't re-learn it, and from that day on, I hid my powers not just from the world, but also my best friend." A sadness filled her heart at that moment, as she sunk tiredly against the cave walls.

"That's tough," Jack told her finally. It seemed that he didn't know what to say, but he sincerely wanted to convey his empathy, and Elsa appreciated that. "So, were you planning on telling her ever?"

"I guess eventually we would have informed - maybe she was old enough to forgive me." Guilt was written all over her face, and her heart sunk further as she blurted the next sentence. "But then, there was the fire."

Sensing the tension, the boy's hand went to the remaining skewer, turning it as to give himself something to do as she composed herself. Observing how she huddled in against the wall, he sighed, saying kindly, "If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay."

Part of her had been tempted to take him on his offer, but if Anna knew this, then she deserved the whole truth. "No. I can do this."

She clenched her fist tightly, then slowly relaxed it." One night when I was fourteen, our home caught fire. Anna and I had come back late from a party at school, and the house blazing when we arrived." She wrung her together, much like she always did, except this time it was obvious she was forming a ball of frost.

"Our parents were trapped inside and Anna wanted to go in, but I stopped her. People in the town were all trying to help put it out, but the Peacekeepers kept getting in the way." She bit her lip after she said that. It wasn't wise to criticize Peacekeepers, especially not on national television, so she lied, "They were trying limit the casualties. I..."

Her throat tightened, her chest was constricting as the roaring flames reappeared in her mind. "I was so torn that night. The fire-"pushing the words out was harder than anything she had ever done. "-I could have put it out with a thought in my mind. At my will, I could have the entire house coated with snow! But," she folded her arms, turning from the District 10 boy, so that he couldn't see her tears. "I was afraid of showing what I could do. My parents had always told me to hide it all costs, b-but I don't think they meant it that way. I don't know. I just..." She just buried her face in her arms. She didn't want to imagine what Anna thought of her at the moment. There would be shock, yes, but what then? Anger of her cowardice? Shame? Disgust? An unwanted trickle rolled down her cheek before falling into her lap.

The silence that followed was even longer than the last. Elsa felt that she had probably stayed wrapped up like that for half an eternity, before the clearing of his throat made raise her head.

"Um." Jack pointed at their surroundings. Blinking away her tears, she realized that she had accidentally added a layer of frost around the inner cave walls.

"I'm sorry," she told the boy, fiercely wiping the tears, ashamed to show such weakest to her possible competitor. She searched him for any contempt, or worse, _pity_, but she only found gentleness and understanding. The frost halted its crawl abruptly.

"All that ice-power stuff - it's heavy, isn't it?" He asked simply.

Thankful for the little normalcy in his tone, she shrugged. "I guess so. In here though, I guess I'm getting a hang of it."

"Oh, that's great. Really. "As if detecting that it was a good time to change the topic, he picked last skewer of the rack."You want another?"

"I-If you don't mind," she replied, slightly ashamed, "I haven't eaten since, well, _the start_." _Since we entered this living hell called the Arena._

He nodded her to go ahead, waiting till she was absorbed in smacking her lips before letting himself grin with amusement. As he tossed some more kindling into the firepit, he told her,"Emma would have loved to meet you, Id think. She has a thing for snow-powered people."

"Who?" Elsa glanced up from the meal, as she delicately removed the bones and chucked it in an empty corner of the cave. It wasn't something she liked doing, but it's not as if they had waste-bins here.

He snorted at her bemused expression, his face twisting in disappointed resignation. "You didn't watch my interview, did you?"

"I was busy preparing for mine."

"Oh, well then." The answer appeased him slightly. "She's my younger sister - like 'nine years younger' _younger_ sister. She's very into fairytales, so she'd tack you with the Snow Queen immediately. It's one of her favorite stories."

"The Snow Queen's a fairy story?" She was genuinely surprised.

He looked at her incredulously. "You've _never_ heard it?"

"I thought it was some turn of a phrase, actually," she said, as she bit off the charred flesh.

"Sad childhood you have- _whoops_." He realized the error of his jibe too late, but fortunately Elsa was distracted by the playing of the familiar anthem outside the cave.

Both of their eyes met as they instantly recognized it; death recap.

"C'mon," Jack said, skipping from his cozy spot by the fire towards the cave mouth, but his pace slackened when he realized it she wasn't following beckoned her over, but she shook her head.

"I can't watch it," she told him, though she offered no explanation. She couldn't forget the screams of the District 4 girl as she tip-toed on the ice's edge, and a wave of nausea swept over her. She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "Just-just tell me _he_'s on the list, okay?"

"Okay." She was surprised that he didn't ask for clarification, but the bitter tint in his tone strangely informed her that he knew well who she was asking for.

When the anthem stopped playing, the boy returned to the cave, looking strangely both grim and horrified at the same time. Elsa caught his expression and sat upright, demanding, "What is it? What's wrong?"

The boy didn't answer, only sitting himself opposite her by the fire, reaching into his coat pocket. For a moment Elsa was almost afraid he would draw some weapon that he had been hiding away and she held a breath.

To her relief, it was just a few slips of paper that he retrieved. He glanced through the slips, before releasing an irate grumble as he tossed them in the flames.

Elsa's bewilderment turned into anxiety. Inhaling sharply, she barely dared to inquire, "Who died?"

He huffed again, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. But then, without taking his eyes off the flames, he rasped in return, "The four girl's dead."

Elsa forced herself to take in a slow breath, before she pressed him further, "And?" She couldn't tell if her voice was full of eagerness or dread.

"Your boyfriend isn't dead, if that's what you're worried about." She was taken aback at how sour he sounded. Bitterness, she felt, was very unbecoming on his usually happy self.

"He's not my boy-" she cut herself off when she saw that the darkness in his eyes was beyond mere irritation. She tried to sound concerned, "What happened, Jack?"

He turned away, shifting himself further from the fire, such that all she could make from his face where the dancing hollows of the shadows . Nonetheless, she relayed her insistence by watching his silhouette intently.

Finally, he answered in a cracked voice, "Tooth's dead."

The strangeness of the words made her puzzled for a moment, but the lack of jest in his posture made her understand that Tooth was probably a person. The face of a spritely girl that had accompanied the handsome boy from District 10 during Training Sessions suddenly came to mind. They were more than merely civil to each other, as she and Hans were. They were close, almost inseparable. She even wondered if they could possibly be – well, _more than friends._

"It's entirely my fault." She could almost see the hate in his eyes piercing through the darkness. Hate towards _himself_.

She was no comforter, since she spent most of her life soothing her own feelings, but Elsa was strongly inclined to say something. That's something Anna would have done. "It-it can't be your fault. You weren't there."

"Exactly. I _wasn't_ there," he retorted in an eerily cold tone. "That's why it's all my fault." He arched his neck towards the ceiling, suddenly saying out-loud, "Yeah, I'm proud of it! Rub it in my face."

The faint glow that caught on Jack's face revealed with a twisted scowl that contorted his features, but it eventually melted to an exhausted droop.

"You should get some rest," he told her forlornly, as he ambled rigidly to the cave mouth, where the winter winds were blowing in. "There might be Careers around. I'll take first watch."

"Alright." She felt it was wrong to accept his offer, but she was exhausted, and he obviously didn't want to talk about it. She withdrew further into the cave, away from the flames, forming a bed of snow lie on. Leaning back against her artificial snowdrift, she cast a final glance at the boy. His back was turned to her, his neck arched upwards, absorbed in watching the snowflakes rain from the sky.

It was both refreshing and stifling, to have the door slammed in her face for a change.

* * *

><p><strong>Summer Quarter<strong>

Hiccup jerked out of his restless sleep, because a thought had suddenly struck him.

_Did the book have anything on acid-spitting trees?_

The campfire was still lit when he was unceremoniously roused, which gave him sufficient light to work. He flung the book open, rapidly skimming through for anything to do with acid. There were dozens of acid-related muttations, but none of them were plants. As he passed a page on an acid-spitting reptile, he was about to gloss over it completely when his eyes caught on a few particular words; _'-camouflaging skills allow blending into rocks, tree, foliage and even buildings-" _

It would make a lot more sense if _something_ on the tree was spitting acid, rather than the tree itself.

He read the name, and it was vaguely familiar – _The Changewing_. Scrutinizing the creature's picture more carefully, he couldn't hold back the skepticism that washed over him.

Reading further into the particulars of this creature, his disbelief only increased. As part of his wretched life of an ex_-_Career student, he had watched virtually every Hunger Games re-run from the 1st to 73rd at least a dozen times each, and he knew the last year that the Gamemakers ever permitted the use of such dangerous muttations was the 50th Games – as a quarter quell special only. Even if they decided to ignore propriety and splurge on a non-quarter quell year, there was no way they would ever let a _dragon_ into the Games.

Everyone knew about dragons. They were reptile-hybrids bred to be protectors of Panem, under the charge of the Peacekeeping force – in other words, they were trained creatures of terror and mass destruction to keep the common populace in line. According to what he had heard from Gobber, they came in many forms, appearances and abilities. Besides the usually flying and fire-breathing component, different species of dragons apparently had different methods of stalking and decapitating their prey. The variety had been built-to-order for the Capitol, so that the common people wouldn't be able to predict or learn too much about the flying reptiles.

These muttations were intelligent, powerful, and very, very vicious. Which was why controlling the dragons had eventually been found to be fundamentally impossible.

Apparently, it had taken the Capital about thirty years come to that conclusion. With an exception of the few that the Capitol still kept for 'scientific research', the costly project was shut down and the mutts were destroyed.

_That_ was what they wrote in textbooks. Growing up in District 2, he knew the truth. One fact that he knew was that closing the project was useless, because most of the dragon mutts had already escaped into the wilds that lay between fences of the Districts. To keep them contained, a special division of Peacekeepers had been organized, trained to eliminate the reptilian beasts, or at least preventing them from entering Districts and destroying precious produce that belonged to the Capitol. From the conversations that he had overheard by his father and the council, he knew that the Peacekeepers have only barely managed to keep on a lid on the dragons so far. Even now, scientists in the Capitol and even some in District 3 have been researching on a new way to control the dragons once again, less they be overrun by these magnificent beasts in near-future.

Hiccup shut the book, scrunching up his face as he deliberated over this. There was no way the Gamemakers would risk bringing in a dragon into the arena, not if they couldn't control it. After all, they were supposed to be as paranoid as Hel about these kind of things. If they couldn't control something, then planting it in the arena was as good as signing their own death warrants.

A hair-rising shriek suddenly erupted against the dark blue sky, causing him to drop the book. For a moment, he was stark still, his ears pricked up. Inhaling sharply through the nose, he dropped to his knees, starting to shove in his belongings inside his bag, save the book and the catapult. Swinging the haversack over his shoulders, he started scraping up some of the soil on the ground, when he heard an ear-splitting squall somewhere above, followed by several whistling noises.

More frantically than ever, he tossed the dirt onto the fire. The annoyed flame hissed at him as it got uncharacteristically snuffed.

He was clumsily clambering to his feet when he felt a sharp gust of wind slap his face - if wind could possibly feel this hot. Searching in the white wash moonlight, he found his catapult and his book. The book he tucked under his arm, while his trembling hands tried to load up a set of bolas into the catapult, while he strapped another spare set around his waist. He was reluctant to use the bolas that he found at the Horn just yet, but he hadn't time to make new ones at present.

Against the moonlight, he could make out small black shapes hovering over the cliff, and many more flying across the sea to add to the number. Within seconds, the black shapes suddenly rapidly increased in size. That was when another draft swept his cheek, and suddenly the forest behind him flared up into blazes of red.

Hiccup's eyes were like saucers, and his brain couldn't find right muscles to shut his maw as he watched the flickering flames, whilst a shadow flew away from it. Another puff fizzed through his hair, but this one was a much warmer and more direct. He recognized this sensation – it was how he felt every time he stood at the furnace rooms where they baked the shale and slate to make cinder blocks. Except he wasn't in District 2, so anything warm was obviously far more precarious.

Hardly daring to move, Hiccup hesitantly twisted his head towards the puffs of air, only daring a peek behind him, before instantly jerking back, holding his breath.

Yep, _definitely_ a dragon. Had the razor-sharp teeth. And talons. And nostrils exhaling _really, really_ hot breath. The 'raze-you-to-ashes' kind of hot.

_Da da da._ He was dead.

Taking his heels, he fled, his heart jolting against its chest atthe sudden spike in anxiety. Daring a glance behind him, he noted that the creature had given chase. It was bi-pidal, with long blue scaly wings pressed against its large crest, only extending every so often for balance. Its was adorn with an impressive coat of spikes, from it head all the way to its –

The creatures' tail suddenly whipped forward, shooting a cluster of barbs his way. Ducking under a rotting log just in time, he pressed his back against the log, praying that the dragon just thought he had mysteriously disappeared. Around him, he could see various scaly creatures swooping down to the woods. Occasionally, one of them would pick up a fleeing woodland creature, before leaping back into the sky, screeching as it did. Many other dragons did the same thing, but sometimes they would end up fighting over the game, snarling and shrieking threats through their fantastically huge jaws. He would have been fascinated by the hunt, if he wasn't already prey himself.

The spiky tail seemed rather familiar though. He hadn't seen this breed of dragon in the previous games, so he had no idea how he could have recognized it. _Unless…_

His catapult then changed places with the book, as he began anxiously opened the book, cringing every time he heard a growl or rumble, hoping that none of the other creatures had seen him yet. Flipping pages rapidly, his heart sank when he heard loud steps of his predator as it approached, squalling in dismay.

Finally, he found the page that he was looking for. A significantly larger portion of the forest had caught fire by now, and the pages were sufficiently illuminated for reading.

"_Deadly Nadders can raise hundreds of sharp spines and fling them suddenly- _not helping," he murmured irritably as the squawking noise behind got increasing ferocious. "_Vain creatures – appeal to vanity._ So do I sing it praises? _Really?" _

Running his fingers along the words, he finally found what he was looking for. "_-blindspot between their eyes_. Okay, that's a start."

It was a good thing he discovered that in time, because the creature – the Deadly Nadder - had just hopped in front of him, snarling and snapping as it brandish its armour of projectiles.

Scrambling to his feet, he quickly stood directly in front of the Nadder's snout, as the book had instructed. He could feel the confusion emanating from the dragon as its prey seemingly vanished. It twitched its head side to side, and Hiccup quickly followed along, hoping against hope that he'd managed to stay out of sight.

However, a yelp from up above startled him – a pair of dueling reptiles, and he forgot to move in his surprise. So when the Nadder turned its head a full ninety degrees, he found himself staring into the black slit of its constricted pupil.

Accurately accessing that he had overstayed his welcome, he grabbed his stuff, running and screaming. The latter might have actually been a huge mistake, because he found that it seemed to helping the blue dragon follow behind him. The rocky terrain which had been his advantage before now was a hindrance, especially since the dragon chasing him was extremely light on its feet, hoping easily from the rock ledge to rock ledge while he had to stumble over the jagged ground.

A vague tingling sensation ran down to his spinal cord when he felt the tip of the Nadder's claws scrape his back, before a bellow rose from the air. Hot air bristled through his hair and he glanced up, gawking in awe and fear as red wings swept above him, removing the Nadder from his path.

Wisdom told him to run, but curiosity planted his feet to the rock path. Craning his neck over a boulder that he hoped could protect him, he watched in morbid fascination as the two dragons circled each other. The Nadder squawked at the sweeping red dragon, flailing its wings and its barbed tail as a warning. The red dragon snarled at his opponent, before abruptly setting its entire self on fire.

It was a poor time for scientific endeavors, but Hiccup begun flipping through the book, and he found a matching picture. "_Monstrous Nightmare_. _Engulfs itself in flames by coating its hide with combustible spit, and then igniting it_." A shudder ran down his body, but it was an even mix of anxiety and allure.

The Nadder struck first, launching a set of projectiles at its fiery competitor. The Monstrous used the claws on its wings-ends grab onto to a tree trunk, grappling on the vines and branches to swing itself out of the spikes' path of destruction. For something so huge, Hiccup had to be impressive at how quickly it could climb.

Flexibility and speed however were still the Nadder's stronger points, and it hopped about, screaming furiously before lashing a tirade of sparky fire shots at the Monstrous. The large, bat-like dragon merely retaliated with its breath of flame, and the duo was locked against combat, with their flames merging together to a single volley of fire.

Something suddenly clicked in Hiccup's head. The dragons weren't merely fighting for fun – no, the Monstrous had attacked the Nadder on purpose. The way they circled each other, taunted each other, roared at each other, wasn't because they were fighting, but because they were fighting over _something_.

Fighting over _him_.

And Hiccup realized that he needed to make himself scarce. Immediately.

Snapping out of his trance, he checked his belonging before dashing into the woods. A good deal of it was already on fire and crawling with reptiles, so he had no choice but to run further away from the border, where he knew the forest would clear into an empty grass expanse. He made an annoyed pout. Regardless of what he did, the Gamemakers could always make him do what they wanted.

Straddling through the mosses, he suddenly slipped on a smooth rock face, and found himself tumbling down a slope, getting himself tangled in wide variety of weeds and vines that fortunately didn't have much thorns. On finally reaching a halt at the slope foot, he sat himself up quickly, brushing off the vines quickly, glancing up the hill. No dragons seemed to have followed.

Except for a large, green-two headed dragon that swooped down said slope.

Scurrying to his feet, but still crouching down, Hiccup hopped over behind a tree trunk, hoping that this dragon had just happened to be the type with bad night vision. Of course, the dragon could just light the woods aflame, and then being seen would become less scary that being burnt alive.

Groaning, he opened book once more, having to squint against the pages and pray that his pupils adjusted the dark faster. This dragon was much heavier and clumsier than the Nadder, so Hiccup had a better mental gauge of how much time he had before he ended getting scorched or eaten.

The little moonlight that filtered through the thick greens above lent his some vision, and he was able to find the two-headed mutt. "_Hideous Zippleback. Twin heads. Razor sharp teeth coated with venom_ – Memo to self: Don't get bitten. _Doesn't breathe fire_." He lifted his brow in astonishment, but the next words shot down his hopes. "_Instead, one head breathes gas, while the other lights it._" He ground his teeth together, letting the words sink in, before he read on. "_Dousing the sparking head sufficiently can prevent ignition._"

He was about to groan, when he realized to the cracking of branches was getting especially loud. Throwing aside any hesitation he had, he removed the water bottle that he strapped on the outside of his bag. The book went under his arm again, and the catapult went back on his shoulder, as a precaution. Using his teeth, he gingerly screwed the water bottle with his teeth, spitting the cap on the ground. Then he waited.

He didn't really have time to get antsy, because a green head appeared around the tree trunk pretty soon. He drew back from it, observing the canines lined around the mutt's jaw – if dragons had lips. He didn't dare breathe as he waited for its first move. The huge, glassy eyes were fixed on him, and the creature parted its lips. Noxious fumes came pouring out. He made the mistake of breathing some of it in, and it started him off in a coughing fit. Still, he bravely shifted himself away from the trunk, away from the snapping head, fidgeting with his water bottle slightly he peered around the gas.

Out of the blue – or rather, out of the green, - another head emerged. In its maw, Hiccup noted the faintest 'click' between the creature's teeth, where he saw a spark. Gulping, he flayed the bottle at the creature, and all his precious water thrown away at that moment.

All of it was _thrown away_. For nothing. The water just splatted on the ground.

There were three very simple reasons why he failed such a simple task that would have saved his life; One, the Zippleback had very long necks, and the sparking head had happened to be too high for his arms to reach. Two, his hands were trembling far too much aim properly. Three, he was Hiccup –things messing up was pretty normal.

He could swear that the Zippleback heads were laughing at him; from the way their heads bobbed up and down as they made eyeballed with each other, their jaws hanging open and their tongues lolling. The, the two long necks swerved the heads towards the prey. The sparking head was clicking its teeth more ferociously now.

_Okay, Plan B._

Hiccup dropped the bottle in favor of steadying the catapult, barely gripping on the book below his arm as he aimed the wooden weapon and pressed the trigger. At the same time, the spark between the Zippleback's head met the green gas.

Hiccup had often dreamed of flying, but flying through the woods after an earth-shattering explosion was not the way he had envisioned it. His feet had lost contact with the ground completely, and his body was arched forward, zooming back through a black, brown and red.

He went under thanks to a concussion, but woke the surge of agony ripped through his back woke him up a few secondly later. Hissing in pain, he forced himself to get sit upright. The bag had managed to cushion some of the impact, but his back was screaming in agony. The catapult had landed right on his body, and one of the screw heads on front handle had decided to give him nick along his palm – a 'nick' being a nicer word for 'long incision'.

Blinking, he was slightly relieved to find himself in a clear open glade, away from the smouldering forest and its ignition-happy invaders of carnivorous tendencies.

Squinting through the black spots in his vision, he gathered up his things before searching for the book. He eventually found it in amazingly in tip-top condition, sitting neatly on a stone face as if someone had placed it there.

A shrill shriek rang out from the sky, and he recognized it as the one that he had first heard that night. Frowning, he raised his head to sky, trying to make out where it came from.

He could hear a faint whistling from above – not the kind that he had from the other dragons, but rather the kind that one would hear when you stood next to a bullet train at full-speed. It was gradual, building up until the very last moment, before it-

He grabbed the book and ducked just in time to witness the violet-blue blast that struck the stone. The explosion was strong enough to fling him back onto the grass again. Considering how close his proximity was, it wasn't that surprising when he landed with his legs over his face, his hands tangled up with the catapult and the book.

He heard the shriek again, and he forced the disorientation out of the way, even though his head was still spinning. Going on his knees, he placed the catapult on the ground as he loaded a fresh set of bolas into it. At the same time, he had flung the book on the ground, turning the pages with his foot as while his hands worked.

His current predator must blended into the night, considering he hadn't been able to spot it yet. It had also had purple blasts that exploded with rings of blue and red – plasma, Hiccup suspected. Browsing through the various mutts though, he was unable to find the info on this particular predator.

When he hit the last page, he couldn't help groaning in frustration. His contraption was loaded and ready, hoisted on his shoulder, but he still lacked the know-how for taking down this dragon.

In the moonlight, he suddenly noted that the last page, which he had assumed was blank, actually had something written on it. Examining it more closely, he read its title, "_Night Fury-_"

The name alone gave him jitters.

"-_Never steals food. Never shows itself. Never miss-_"

A bolt of purple burst against the same rock surface as earlier. It was almost as if the creature was warning him. Or perhaps, mocking him - about how close he was too imminent death.

"-_Speed: Unknown. Size: Unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon. Your only chance? Hide and pray it does not find you."_

Turning his head to sky, he remarked wryly, "Rather dramatic, don't you think?"

As if in response, a violet blast exploded on his right. Fortunately, it wasn't as strong as the first, and he lifted up the book to shield himself in time. So, the explosion only hurled him a few feet from his previous spot, without concussion and his catapult in tact. The book was once again mysteriously uncharred throughout the events.

Heaving himself up, he glanced at the empty glade where the night-blending flying reptile haunted his every step, or back into the forest cover, where every steps was crowded with interesting but extremely deadly predators.

He rolled back his shoulders. Considering his chances of survival of had already dwindled to single digits, he might as well take on dragons in their single digits; preferably the digit being '_one'_.

Dropping back and book, he knelt to the ground, both his hands wrapped around the catapult handles firmly; the left index finger curled around the trigger. He scanned the black sky, praying that someone show him mercy and give him something to shoot at – preferably whatever it was that was hunting him in the open field.

Fate – or maybe sympathetic Gamemakers - must have been on his side, because for a split-second, he caught a glimpse of black across the white of the stars. It was fleeting, but it was enough. He pointed the nozzle of the catapult in that direction, squeezing the trigger, before finding himself thrust back to the ground; not by an explosion this time, but the throwback. His heart in his throat as he listened to the zipping of the bolas in the wind, as the nets and balls flew. There was a soft 'click', then a terrifying howl, and in the white light, he made out the rough black outline of something falling from the sky.

His mouth was hanging open. It _worked_. His catapult actually _worked_.

His night of anxiety suddenly escalated into one of glee. One of his inventions, built and designed _completely_ by himself, had actually _worked_! He had guessed that the Gamemakers had doubted him, even though they had given him a nine. He knew that his District 2 had never believed in him, not even Gobber, and especially not his father. But here he was, on a national television, showing the world that _he_, Hiccup the Screw-up, had managed to _succeed_ in building a weapon completely out of wood in seven minutes, and it _worked_.

"Did _anyone_ see that?" He demanded the sky, still completely amazed by the events.

He spun around to give a whoop of joy, waving his arms madly in the air-

Wait, why were his hands free? Where was his catapult?

He scoured the rocky grasslands, scooping up bag and book as he did, pouring through the grass, before he found the splintered wreck that was once his creation. The force of the back-lash must have been greater than he had expected.

His shoulders slumped, but he simply rolled his eyes and sighed. _Well, what's new?_

A deep throaty breath from left startled him, and he found himself was in a staring a snorting dragon. It was red, skinny and its body was covered in leaf-like protrusions. Sharps teeth stuck out from its lower jaw, and a greenish-liquid dripping down its chin, to the grass, burning up a patch of it with a hiss.

He narrowed his brows at the creature, greeting it dryly, "Oh. _You_."

Just the Changewing parted its maw, Hiccup screamed as he sped across the grassy expanse.

* * *

><p><strong>SN:**

**Tada! The events of the Summer Quarter have been something I planned right from the start, and it's finally out here. **

**Honestly though, this chapter frustrated me. I realized that I really suck at writing action. Which begs the question – why do I end up writing these kind of stories?**

**If you can't out what (or who), Hiccup just shot, well…**

**All the characters would have to undergo some major story arches, so there would be some parts of the story where I'm wholly focused on a bunch of characters. So don't get worried if anyone doesn't appear for some time. (Like, has anyone noticed I haven't done a Merida POV for 3 chapters?) **

**Up Next: No quotes (because I've stopped writing in advance), but we'll be seeing some of Hiccup and some of Merida.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Hello, folks! Having been here for a while.**

**School feels surreal. My arms hurt from PE. But I 'valiantly' type on. Still struggling on my philosophy project. Nuff rants.**

**On the bright side, I had just used all my work money to buy a whole bunch of Art Books, for HTTYD 1&2, ROTG, Tangled, Frozen and Big Hero 6! I'm pretty crazy about the artwork, yeah. My favourite book is still the Big Hero 6 one though, because the Japanese-American with Disney somehow appeals to me. I like the Tangled one just because it has Glen Keane all over it.**

**Mailbox:**

**QueenElsaofArendelle1934: Here's my slow update, hope you liked it. Hiro and Rap (calling her Rap comes more easily to mean than Punz, I dunno why) certainly are sorta allies, and Jack too. As for Hiccup's band, it's gonna be way more complicated…**

** : Thank you! I read the quote on your profile, and I agree with it, which is why this story exists. I hope that this version would continue to be a satisfactory tale, and that the deviations won't be too weird. **

**A way to uncreative girl: Haha, well, I'd give much for free time now…**

**Awsomaniatica: Just review when you like, no sweat. I'm glad you like the ice castle battle (I haven't written the rest, but I've a feeling it's gonna be my favourite fight in this story, but I'm getting ahead of myself…) Team-up will be coming up soon, eventually…like after a whole lot and lot of stuff. Oh, Hiccup's not going to have any action. I mean, he just got attacked by a whole bunch of dragons, so… yeah.**

**StarRunner1: (reads first sentence and throws head back and cackles evilly) Oh, I'm actually just going to save the remaining Careers, and kill of the big Five. Kidding! Can't tell you more about Jack, which tells you something (but your guess is not completely correct). I hope the 'action' here was alright, and if it isn't, the next few chapters should.**

**ElvisRules41: Happy Super Belated Birthday by now! I present, chapter full of random fire creatures! Tada!**

**Geekinquietx: (chap2) Yes, Elsa is older than Jack. In their movies, Elsa's supposed to be 21 when she's crowned queen, and Jack's 17 when he died (but his maturity didn't increase). Because I'm a stickler for canon (even beyond just ships, yes), my compromise is that she becomes 18 while he stays 17. I apologise if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but it's just a year, and their relationship is not exactly hardcore romantic. **

**WarriorQueen 14: Glad you like it, and I'm honoured that you think this fic stands pretty good amongst the THG crossovers. Yep, love canon ships. Well, killing off characters is hardly the worst I can do to characters, but I'm going to confess – lots of the deaths (of good people, at least) are driving points in the story, which isn't really realistic in real life, but it's fiction, so I refuse make their deaths pointless (hmmph...do I make any sense?).**

**Guest: Um, thanks!**

**The Next Update would probably be in 2 weeks time. My update times for this story is likely to be every second weekend, likely Friday. How on earth am I going to finish this by June? I dunno.**

**See ya. ****Review! Ask Questions! Critique!**


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